even a flightless bird has its uses
by notantihero
Summary: Anna steps forward. "Instead of executing her, may I offer a better solution?" The cuffs restraining Elsa's wrists clinks loudly as Anna grabs a hold of her hand. "Give her to me. I'll make use of her as it befits our kingdom. This I can promise you, father." AU; Elsanna; dark!Elsa
1. flightless

For many death comes in the form of myth: a tall, hooded skeletal figure wielding a scythe. It's a safe enough belief, the sort of intangible monster that mothers scare their children with during moments of misbehaviour.

Anna's death is anything but mythical, safe or intangible. Not when she's staring at them straight in the face: this tall, pale woman with her familiar charging straight at Anna. They say your life flashes back in near death, shows you the highlight of your memories from the beginning to the end. She wishes it's the case – because even remembering is an action better than the utter helplessness of her situation.

Her life doesn't flash before her eyes, but time does slow into a crawl, a mere fraction of its speed. She stares at charging bear, fifty paces away. Forty. Notices the sheen of its fur against the sunlight, the absurdity of its size. Its gaping, open maw with its teeth bared, each as long as Anna's fingers.

She's not going to survive this.

Thirty.

The pounding in her head intensifies. The pain blurs her vision but still, she tries to move her leg. Tries and fails again, because it's caught, pinned underneath the massive bulk of a fallen enemy soldier. If only she has her sword, she thinks. Moot, because her sword's buried hilt deep in that corpse of a man who's proven to be her undoing, even in his death. She wants to scream. Even after all this, even after everything she's gone through she's just a _woman_ in the end, too weak to even move this body, too weak to even pull her sword off flesh. At least with it in hand she can face this beast, die like a warrior instead of a helpless woman. Moot.

Twenty.

So close she imagines she can feel its icy breath, feel its teeth tear the skin on her neck. It must be a moment of sheer desperation, but she stops staring at it, looks at the woman instead.

Their eyes meet.

"Help me," she says, even as she knows the woman can't hear her, not with this distance and this clamour of metal against metal and the roars of beasts made of ice. Not that this woman will, when she's one of the soldiers whose sole purpose is to eradicate this woman's existence.

Ten.

And even then, when death is but an arm's length away, she can't stop staring at the woman. She hates herself then, for finding this weapon (hands stained with the blood of so many of her countrymen) so goddamned _beautiful._

She can feel the ground reverberating against her skin, the thud thud thud of the bear's massive paws like battle drums in her ears.

Still, Anna doesn't tear her gaze away.

Five.

Her body stiffens, preparing itself for the coming end. She prepares herself and yet—

And yet death never comes.

The woman opens her mouth and closes it again, and the bear stops mid-charge, forelegs raised, rearing up in the air. So close Anna simply has to reach forward to touch the edges of its long claws. There's no skidding halt, no loss of momentum in its cessation of motion; it simply _stops_, one moment moving, the next not. As if it has never moved at all, as if it's just a lovingly made ice sculpture a madman has sculpted in the middle of the battlefield.

The woman says something, eyes boring into Anna's. It's too loud and too far to hear, but Anna doesn't need to. It's a word she's heard since the day of her birth, all throughout her life. It's a word she's memorised the forming of lips, the movement of the mouth to.

"Anna," the woman says.

_Anna._

And before Anna can say anything – can even wonder how the woman knows her name, the bear springs back into life, sending shards of ice showering around her as gravity brings its legs crashing back onto the ground. Just as sudden, it then banks sharply to the right, careening straight against one of her men, tearing his sword-wielding arm off on the elbow with the ease of a warrior handling a toy sword.

"_Robert!_" She calls out the man's name. Futilely. It's just one of the many names she's called out today. Most of them no longer belonging to anything alive.

The bear tosses the arm to the side – as if it's just a minor annoyance – before propelling itself on its muscular hind legs again, searching for the next target.

It's not the only beast in the field. There are a dozen more: wolves, bears, tigers, golems. All slaughtering her people with an unnatural grace, even when the humans are skidding and stumbling on frozen water and sand, an unnatural habitat for their warm climate.

This can't go on any longer. They simply can't take the losses, and believe it when Anna says that every single loss digs deep into her heart.

Another man loses a limb and panic sets in. She needs to move. _Move._ Move and somehow end this. There's nothing a lone woman like her can do to change the tide of battle, not when she's up against something so out of this world with a power so incomprehensible to the human mind. But still, she needs to try.

So she tries. Tries with all her might to drag her leg beneath the man's body. Using a broken spear shaft as fulcrum against her thigh, she surveys her surroundings, in case men or beast decides to take advantage of her immobility. None are: each side too preoccupied with eliminating the able bodied to pay her any attention. The woman is nowhere to be seen. Thank god she's still wearing her helmet, obscuring any recognisable facial features.

She pushes the end of the shaft again. Harder. Harder. And finally, the body bulges, lifting just enough that she's able to slowly slide her leg out. Her boot snags against the man's breastplate strap and she swallows a scream, pain once again flaring deep inside her ankle. Broken. Her mind is screaming at her to stop, but she can't. Time isn't in her hands. So she pulls and pulls, and eventually her leg comes out free.

She allows herself only a few moments to catch her breath, before reaching forward again, this time to free her sword. Her hand has barely reached the hilt when she feels something thin and cold press against the skin above her jugular vein.

She freezes.

Looks down and sideways. Sees a blade so sharp, so thin it's almost invisible. Ice. She looks up, and for the second time that day, meets the woman's eyes.

Someone calls her name. One of her knights is charging at them – sword raised, no doubt to save her from this woman. The first beginnings of his name escapes her lips, but before the warning to just _get away, don't throw your life for me_ can be vocalised, the woman sweeps her hand, almost lazily, and an circular array of spikes burst from the ground, encasing him in an icy cage. One of the spikes is so close to his throat Anna can see a trickle of blood forming.

He looks at her, helpless.

"Don't worry. I won't kill him," the woman says. Her accent is thick and foreign, her voice stilted, rusty, as if she isn't used to speech. "Look to your left. Near the ships. The man with the yellow plume." Not having any choice, Anna does, slowly turning her head as not to nick herself on the blade, eyes roaming in the distance until she spots the man she assumes is the one the woman wants her to see. He doesn't seem to notice them, distracted by a conversation with another knight. The commander, she assumes. "He controls me. Kill him and you'll win this battle."

Her master. Anna knows what that means.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Because you have no other choice," the woman says. Calm.

Anna doesn't know why, but she finds herself believing her. It's easy for her to kill Anna, after all. Have had more than enough chances to in fact. The fact that Anna is still alive speaks volumes. And it's true: there's no other choice.

Anna holds the woman's gaze for a few more heartbeats, then says, "all right. You'll have to let Jan there go though. He's my commanding officer."

The woman obliges, the spikes holding Jan in place dissolving into a flurry of snow. At once he breaks into a run, continuing his trajectory, straight at them.

"I will need to stop him," the woman says.

"As long as you don't do him any hurt."

She nods. Jan is a scant few paces away when the blade leaves Anna's neck. Lightning fast, the woman twirls it in her hand and sweeps low, striking him right at the shin with the pommel, sending him tumbling down next to Anna.

"You goddamned—"

Anna interrupts him before he can launch into one of his famous litany of curses, fearing that he will once again rise and try to strike the woman, fearing that the woman's temper might be as fierce as her powers. "_Jan_," she says, putting enough force behind that single word that he immediately clamps his mouth shut. "Listen to me. She means me no harm, do you understand that?"

"But Princess—" He tries to rise, but the woman drives a foot against his back, forcing him and his words back down.

"Don't interrupt me. There's a knight with a yellow plume standing by the ships. Do you see him?" He follows her gaze, but not before shooting the woman a death glare first. "Do you?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Now can you explain why I shouldn't kill this monster here? Or why you're conversing together like two old women having bloody lunch over high tea? No offense to you, strange killer lady — I'm sure your cold blooded murder of my comrades is just a harmless mistake and all."

The woman doesn't give any indication of acknowledging his words. Such as smart ass as always. It's like he doesn't have a filter, or any understanding that the woman's the one who's dictating everything here. Not Anna, and certainly not him. She supposes that's why he's one of her favourites.

"First: you're in no position to kill anyone right now, let alone her. Second: he's her master, all right? Kill him and—and—" And what? She furrows her brows, unable to find any discernible motive behind the woman's actions. She turns her attention back towards the woman. "And then what? Why are you telling us this?"

"Because I despise what I am doing as much as you despise losing your men. You must tell him what to do now. Time is running out; I _will_ be forced to kill you both if my absence is noticed. Please."

Please. The metal collar on the woman's neck glints, and Anna understands. Against all logical reason, she understand.

"Jan," she says, this time much more urgently. "Relay this to the men: focus their attacks on that man. Ignore everything else. Kill him."

"But—"

"_Kill him._"

After what seems like an eternity, the insubordination flees from his eyes and he nods.

The woman lifts her foot and he scampers off at once, skidding and slipping over ice. Still in motion, he takes the warhorn strapped to his belt and blew. The sound pierces the air: shrill and loud, and she sees all of her men who are still able-bodied and otherwise not engaged in melee combat congregate around him, following his stride as they rush towards the ships.

She can see the surprise from the knight's frantic gestures, motioning at his men, at the archers on the ships to reload. Several of the woman's golems are following Jan's entourage too, but she notices they're only making half-hearted grabs and swats, and the bulk of their bodies serving more to protect her men from incoming arrows than to harm them.

"If you will excuse me, I have a part to play," the woman says, and then she's off, gliding through the ice as if she's born on it, straight at Jan's men.

She picks on a few stragglers but doesn't use her powers, choosing to simply engage them in melee. Her animal familiars too, are nowhere to be seen. It's clear what she's doing: going through all the motions of protecting her master with no heart behind them.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

Soon enough, it's over.

As soon as the knight's head touches the ground, the woman stops playing her part. Once again her beasts spring forward from ice, many more than before. This time their ferocity is targeted at the enemy. Limbs and heads and chunks of flesh are torn, but not from her men.

A wolf comes straight at her, then leaps overhead — briefly obscuring the sun — before landing and running again, going after a fleeing soldier. She hears a crunch and a scream stopped short but doesn't look, focused only on the woman. They all are, silently watching the carnage, the woman with the disbelief and relief that comes from not being at the receiving end of such monstrous powers. None of them makes any attempt to harm the woman even as she walks by them, close enough draw a sword upon, and bends down, picking something off the knight's body.

"Bloody hell," Jan says, squatting besides Anna having rushed back immediately after. "I thought she was terrifying before, but this is another level entirely. They should name nightmares after her. Silence crying babies and all."

"Yeah well, I don't think she even tried then. Mind helping me up?"

Grabbing her outstretched arm, he hefts her up as they rise together. Using the spear shaft and his shoulder as support, she finally stabilises her gait and starts limping forward, inexplicably dragging him alongside her.

"By the way, just in case you haven't noticed, Princess, we're walking straight towards the jaws of the beast herself. Are you sure this is a good idea? Did you hit your head on something, perhaps?"

"Only against my helmet. I think I'll tell Janus to add some padding inside. That crap hurts," she says without breaking her limping.

"We should kill her. Give me the word and I'll have my men strike her down."

She looks at him. "Gee, kill the woman who had single-handedly annihilated the enemy force? _Brilliant_ idea, Jan."

"Just a suggestion. A _very_ brilliant suggestion, if I may add. We can't simply let her walk away. What if she decides to slaughter _our_ troops next now that she's finished with them? What then?"

There's truth in his words. They can't. Not after all that's happened.

She shrugs. "Then we try our best to retaliate and hope she slips on ice and cracks her head open. For now, we'll see what she wants. It's not a good idea to goad her into action by being rash. We might win, or we might just sign an early death warrant. You with me? Because I'd rather limp alone than have you tag along only to have you try stabbing her to death."

"Your wish is my command, Princess," he says dryly.

"Good man."

She spots the woman walking towards them and they meet halfway in between, in the middle of the frozen sea and the aftermaths of a bloody war. The woman stops a safe distance away and Anna breaks off from Jan, putting both of her hands on top of the shaft as her only support.

She addresses him. "Bring the dead and wounded back. I don't want you to differentiate between them and us – their wounded will be treated the same as ours, no exceptions, yes?"

"As you wish, Your Highness," he says. He throws the woman a look, but doesn't bother saying anything else. They both know nothing can out do Anna's stubbornness, and set in her ways she is. He turns away to join the men in post-battle triage, most of them already ignoring the few remaining enemy soldiers left. They've won, and there's no sense in letting any more lives taken.

Right. On to the next step.

"Do you mind dissolving uh, your creatures? I think we've done enough to assure victory, so there's really no need anymore. Not the sea though, since we're still standing on it and I'd hate to drown with armour on," she asks the woman cautiously, still unsure of exactly how to approach this woman standing in front of her. A snap of the woman's fingers and it's done, the various creatures rendered back into snow flurries and then none, as if they never existed. "Thanks. That's a very… convenient power to have. What's your name?"

There's hesitation in the woman's expression, her mouth parting wordlessly. But then it passes and she says, "Elsa."

Elsa. Elsa. Anna repeats it her head, feeling her way through each syllables. "Elsa," she says, pleased at how the word rolls off her tongue. "It's a very pretty name. My name's Anna, by the way. The Princess of the kingdom that you just… well, tried to invade. Nice to meet you." She wants to ask Elsa if she had really said Anna's name then, but it's not the proper place for chit-chat. Jan's right: conversing like they're having tea together is rock-bottom in her list of priorities. Right now she needs to decide what to do with Elsa. "So, pleasantries aside, I think I have an idea why you've – well, betrayed your… master." Master. It seems like such a dirty word. But she supposes that's the only way to describe it. She's heard stories about Elsa, accounts on her effectiveness as a weapon of war. Heard enough to know why Elsa did what she did. "You wished to stop serving under him, yes?"

"Correct," Elsa says.

"Okay. So what are you going to do now? You're free from him, and we all know better than to try to stop you from fleeing." Her eyes travel down from Elsa's face to her neck, eyeing the collar. She hates the thing already; it seems like such a perverse way to gain control of someone. If she can, she would've yanked that thing off Elsa in a moment's notice. But well, the stories have told her enough for her to know that she can't.

"And should I flee, Your Highness, where will I go?" Elsa's smile is small: faint and sad.

Anna shifts on her good foot, uneasy. "Anywhere? You understand that you'll have to stand trial if you stay right? And after all you've done… I don't think they'll rule favourably. I mean you can always freeze us and escape, I suppose. But that defeats the entire purpose of not going now, really."

"I think I have finally found a reason to stay. You may subjugate and send me to trial – that is entirely your prerogative."

Suspicion flares, and Anna narrows her eyes. "A reason? What reason? Because if it's just a ploy to free yourself, assassinate my father and take over internally, I swear…"

Elsa's smile transforms into some akin to amusement: her lips curling lopsidedly. "And what do you suppose is stopping me from simply storming your small, pathetic castle right now? It seems less of a waste of time than conversing with you here, trying to convince you to bring me in. Why be subtle when I can be anything but?"

"My castle is _not_ pathetic. _Or _small."

"I've seen bigger."

Oh wow. Talk about double entendre. Why, indeed. It makes sense, no matter how much Anna prefers it not to. "You still haven't told me the reason why."

"Does it matter?"

"It does."

"There is no ill will aimed at your family, that's all I can say. So this is what I propose: use me."

Anna's jaw hangs open. Did she just hear that right? This woman, this weapon whom many a kingdom will pay their weight in gold for – did she just offer her allegiance to _Anna's_ kingdom? A kingdom so small, so unimportant it doesn't even warrant a mention in most maps?

"Oh, you must be joking," she says.

"I am not," Elsa says. She takes Anna's hand, palm upturned, and drops something into it. Anna looks down. A bracelet. The twin to Elsa's collar. "A token of goodwill, and I hope this is enough to gain your trust. Offer me to whomever you will. I trust you've heard enough the stories to know what this signifies."

Of course Anna has. Which is precisely why her next words come as thus: "are you crazy."

"That man – Jan, is it?" Elsa continues, as if she hasn't heard Anna. "He seems like a decent enough man. Although I must warn you that it's a bond that lasts a lifetime: until one or both of us perishes. Choose my owner wisely."

"Oh hell no. Heeeell no." Anna instinctively takes a step back and immediately regrets it, the pain she's forgotten existed flaring back with vengeance. She loses her footing and nearly falls, but thankfully Elsa's grabbed her arm, steadying her as she regains her balance.

She looks up, wanting to offer her gratitude when she catches the shadows of motion in her peripheral vision. Loyal to a fault, the men who have noticed the physical contact are standing stiffly, watching the minutest details of Elsa's every single move, in case she tries to harm Anna. Some of them have drawn their weapons. It's a dangerous situation, more so for them than Elsa. Trying her best to diffuse the situation, she puts on her brightest grin and waves, signifying that she's all right and under no duress. At all.

It seems to have worked, because they've sheathed their weapons and resume their triage. A few still stands around, casting her and Elsa a wary look, but that's better than nothing. Definitely loyal to a fault.

Elsa lets go of her arm, and she can't help but notice that Elsa's touch is warm: a polar opposite of her powers. An interesting contrast.

"Okay. Fine. But I won't gi—offer your… allegiance to anyone. Not if I can help it. Let me ask you this, then: if they were to decide it's in our best interest to execute you, what then?"

There's no discernible expression when Elsa answers: "then it will be a fitting end for someone like me, do you not agree?"

There's nothing Anna can say to that, so she doesn't. Instead she motions for one of the men milling about, gesturing for him to come. He breaks into a careful jog, trying not to slip on the ice. Once he reaches them she casts a glance at Elsa and says, "bring me a pair of cuffs, will you?"

His eyebrows rise, understanding the implication. But unlike the loud mouth called Jan, he keeps his silence, simply asks if it's the ball and chains she wants.

"Just cuffs."

When his back is turned and he's a respectable distance away, Anna says to Elsa, "you understand that I have to restrain you, right? It's useless, but it'll provide some sort of security blanket for them. I hope you don't mind."

Elsa simply taps on her collar.

Again, Anna doesn't have a suitable reply to that. So they stand in silence, waiting for the cuffs to arrive. It finally does, and she tells him to put it on and lead Elsa back to the castle, to stand trial.

As her right wrist is being cuffed, Elsa catches Anna's gaze and asks the oddest question Anna's ever heard. "Do you have a sister?"

"Uh, no, no I don't. I'm the only child."

"If you did, she would have loved you very much, I think."

An odd, odd question. But before Anna can ask for clarification, Elsa's already walked away, following him docilely like they're the one who has power over her instead of her over them.

The bracelet feels heavy in Anna's hand, like dead weight.


	2. shackles

**2.**

Anna slumps down in her throne; legs outstretched, cheek resting on her palm.

This is getting ridiculous.

Glancing to her left, she sees that her parents are still listening to the arguments and counter-arguments by the various nobles and officers, all of them outlining the same things, over and over again. One of such arguments happening right at the foot of the dais. A Marquis and an Earl.

"She should be executed. God knows what a beast like that can do if we let her run amok! It will certainly spell the destruction of this kingdom!"

"Fools. To even contemplate such sacrilege! Do you not wonder what powers and riches that thing could bring us? There will be no more need for the fear of shrinking borders, in fact, we will _expand. _If I had my say—"

Before the Marquis and Earl can tear each other apart, one of the visiting Countesses slides between them, interjecting the Marquis's babble.

"And you are saying that we should give her to you? Only a monkey is blind to your ambitions. You think of yourself as subtle, but really, we can all see through your thin treachery, my dear Marquis."

The Marquis crosses his arms, harrumphs. "Meddlesome words from a foreigner."

"And does it not say enough that even a foreigner such as I are able to see through your ploy?"

The Marquis's cheeks turn a pale shade of red, his fists clenched tight and Anna is afraid he might hit her, spurring an international incident. Thankfully he doesn't, merely walks away to join another group of arguing nobles. Even then, Anna can see that his back is still stiff, like he's walking with a rod jammed up, well – up his backside, to put it politely.

Anna decides that she needs to find his name out and have a talk about him with her father. Not that it'll do anything besides adding his name to an already long list of names. She's lucky she's not yet a Queen – being a ruler seems like a mighty hard job. Aggressively expanding your borders? You're a bloodthirsty King who cares more for power than your own folks. Choosing the peaceful route like her father does? Well, now you're just the cowardly King brining down your kingdom with you because you're too afraid to do anything.

You just can't win sometimes.

She sighs, then notices that the Countess is looking at her. Anna offers a thankful smile, and the Countess simply curtsies before she too goes off to mingle. Nice woman.

Watching the Countess's retreat, she feels a hand on her forearm.

"What do you think, Anna?" her mother asks, leaning slightly across her armrest, head bowed near Anna's. "Do you think it'll go in her favour?"

By her, she means Elsa of course.

Another sigh from Anna. "Judging from the various conversations I can hear? Not really."

"And you're unhappy about that. You seem quite attached to her already. Why is that?"

"I dunno. Just seems like she's not that bad of a person, y'know? It's not like she did it because she wants to – I mean, with the collar and all. What about you, mama? What do you think?"

Cecile seems to mull for a moment. "I think you're right. Your father thinks so too, I know that for a fact. Still, you understand that his hands are tied – there's nothing he can do once the votes come in. We'll have to follow the majority's wishes."

"Not if I can help it."

It's odd that Anna feels so protective against someone she barely knows – even odder if she considers the fact that Elsa was, is still the enemy, having killed more than a dozen of Anna's men and maimed countless others. Nearly killed Anna herself, even. But then again, Elsa had also been their saviour; without her intervention – hell, even without her on their side there's slim chance they would've won, if at all. Their armies are simply too small. The bane of being a peaceful nation more focused on fishing as a past time than anything else.

"Like I said, Anna, mine and his hands are tied. But yours? Not so much."

Ah.

Playing dumb, Anna furrows her brows. "What do you mean by that? Stop being cryptic, mama. I'm not smart enough for that. My head hurts already."

Cecile chuckles under her breath, only loud enough for Anna to hear. "Now now, we all know you're terribly smart, and no obfuscation will convince me otherwise. No, you know exactly what I'm implying, and I know exactly what you're planning. Now just be a good girl and prepare to give Elias a heart attack."

"I'd rather not, though."

"I know."

And with that, Cecile leans away, back to sitting primly besides her husband, hands folded on her lap. She watches as the steward approaches her parents' throne, bows, and offers them a single envelope. Her father opens the envelope, sighs, and clears his throat.

Voice ringing loud with authority he says:"the votes have been cast and tallied. Forty-two against twenty-six, in favour of execution."

Anna looks away.

Of course.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

The doors to the grand hall open and Elsa is led in, flanked by two men each on her side and another two behind her, footsteps matching each of her own. The sea of humans parts as she approaches, congregating at into two equal groups at each side of the hall. Anna can read suspicion, wariness, terror, and for some (the young and bold) even amusement.

But regardless of the emotion, each pair of eyes are inevitably drawn towards Elsa; following and analysing her every move like a crowd gathered around a majestic beast subdued by the chains on her hands. Subdued and docile but never tamed.

Gone are the icy blue dress and the braid with the wind-swept bangs. She looked like any other prisoner then: hair flowing down freely; dressed in a drab brown prisoner's garment made of coarse linen; haggard, like she hadn't eaten much at all for the past few days she'd spent in her cell. Despite that, she has her head held high, proud and regal yet without the slightest hint of defiance. Like she's used to being at the abject mercy of whimsical nobles, or like she's used to ruling over them.

Her mother's touch settles briefly on Anna's arm and she stops the unconscious tugging of her braid. She desperately wants to catch Elsa's attention – offer her an encouraging smile, tell her that everything will be all right – but Elsa's gaze is focused only straight ahead, right at the King.

Elias hems and haws, stroking his dark beard as he appears to find the right words to say, and Anna wonders if there's any right word to say at all when you're telling someone you're sending that person to certain death. Cecile whispers something into his ears that sounds like reassurance.

Anna takes the cue to rise from her throne, step down the dais and walk towards Elsa, slow and steady. Ignoring the cacophony of whispers and the wary glance Elias gives her, she takes her place at Elsa's side, her guards having backed away to give Anna space. Again, Elsa doesn't acknowledge her presence, simply stares ahead. She's either smitten by Elias or finds his beard fascinating or is appreciating the nice whiteness on the wall behind the throne.

"You take after your mother," Elsa says without looking.

"Yeah; it'd be quite scary if I took after my father – I don't think beards would look particularly good on me." A pause. "Are you ready?"

"Always."

"I won't let anything happen to you," Anna says, meaning every single word.

No reply comes, so Anna lifts her arm, smiles at her parents and waves. It's a signal that signifies that no, she hasn't gone completely crazy as to stand so close to the beast, and that Elias should start because she wants to get this over with as much as he does.

Still stroking his beard, it seems like he's torn between wanting to tell Anna to stop this blasphemy and get back to your throne right _now,_ and just proceeding with the blasted thing; wayward daughters be damned. Thankfully he chooses the latter. Well, her stubbornness is legendary, after all.

Sighing deeply, Elias leans forward, resting his forearm on his knee. "I won't mince words. This decision burdens me heavily but we've – the majority has concluded that you're too much of a threat to let free. Do you understand this, Lady Elsa?"

"Yes," Elsa says. As if Elias has said gee, nice weather today huh? and she's merely agreeing for the sake of polite conversation.

"Do you have any last words? A plea for your case, perhaps? Anything at all?"

There's a hint of muted desperation in his voice. He doesn't want to do this as much as Anna doesn't want to do what she'll be forced to, if Elsa continues this charade of a dog showing her belly to placate an overzealous master. It's a goddamned charade and Anna knows that. There's no way such obedience would come naturally for a woman powerful enough to level a kingdom should she so desire. It's heresy; it goes against the natural order of the world.

"I do not, Your Majesty."

Oh bloody hell. Seriously? _Seriously?_ Elsa is playing such a convincing martyr she ought to be named a saint posthumously. Because that's the only way this entire thing will go if she won't stop being the helpless damsel in distress. Or if Anna doesn't step up.

Elias's brows furrowed. "Are you quite sure? You _do_ have the permission to speak freely."

"I am, Your Majesty," Elsa says.

Anna suppresses the urge to elbow her in the ribs. Her desperation goes from the muted ring of a bell far away to the full blast of a warhorn's blare. She wishes it hasn't come to this, but of course she knows from the beginning that this is exactly how it'll go. Elsa seems too eager to earn her sainthood and her father too eager to placate the court.

It rests squarely on Anna's shoulders now, and the very idea of the next thing she'll be forced to do repulses her.

"…if you insist. Following the rule of the majority I hereby declare—"

"Father, if I may interject?"

"Anna this isn't the time—"

Regardless, Anna steps forward, once again cutting his words short. "Instead of executing her, may I offer a solution?" The chains restraining Elsa's wrists rattle as Anna grabs a hold of her hand. "Give her to me and I'll make use of her. This I can promise you, father."

At once the cacophony of whispers come back with vengeance, and Anna hears snatches of muted words ranging from "blasphemy!" to "has she gone mad?" to "how unexpected" to "interesting, quite. Bold move". None of them matter. The only thing that matters is how she'd finally gotten a reaction out of Elsa.

"Anna…" Elsa says under her breath – full of warning – and Anna receives the full brunt of the steel in her gaze. Not so toothless after all. "_Don't._"

Oh, but Anna will.

"And what might you mean by that? Please do elaborate." This time it's Cecile's turn to take the reins from her husband, a hand on his to placate whatever words of outrage Elias wants to hurl at Anna's outrageous request.

He's finally catching on, several steps behind Cecile. A sly Queen does her mother make – a perfect match for her father's genteel, trusting nature.

"I mean what I said," Anna says, and she sees a gleam of knowing amusement in her mother's eyes. "Make me her master and I'll bring Corona back to its former glory, as we once were." Elias starts to look purple, and the whispers and murmurs have risen to the full din of conversation. With their attention trained solely at her, she takes the chance, passing her gaze through the crowd, maintaining eye contact with as many of them as possible. "I know I speak for many, if not most of us when I say we're dissatisfied with the current state of our kingdom. We used to be grand, but what are we now? Too small to note in maps, too weak to fend of invasion. Year after year our borders grow smaller and why? Because we're too feeble to retaliate – too used to peace to prepare. Do you not agree?"

Her words are tampered, carefully filtered as not to have anything accusatory behind them, devoid of any insinuation that Corona's impending downfall is her father's machination, because it isn't. It really isn't. It's just like the steady roll of a snowball down the hill – by the time they'd realised what happened it was already too late.

She feels that her words are safe enough, but she knows that if she weren't the Princess, she would have been dragged out and maybe sent into a brief stint in the dungeons, free to count each individual stone slabs until she's let out with scarcely a slap to the wrist. Elias is much too decent of a King.

"So we use her as our weapon, is that what you want?" His knuckles are white underneath Cecile's touch.

"Why not? We know she's bound to the whims of her master—" the word still tastes vile in Anna's mouth, and she wonders if Elsa cares at all, but a quick glance at the woman suggested she doesn't, unreadable as always but for the slight clenching of her jaws "—and if she really is truly dangerous, she would've murdered each one of us by now instead of standing here listening to us babble amongst ourselves when really, we're the ones at her mercy. If that doesn't prove her goodwill, then I don't know what will."

She sees the beginnings of the ripple of agreement in the crowd, as if they hadn't considered it before. Too blinded by their fears for an objective view. She doesn't blame them; she would be too, if not for that brief interaction with Elsa. Somehow that's enough. Elsa's hand is warm against hers. She's not letting go just yet.

"No," Elias says.

Of course it won't be that easy.

She lets out an internal sigh. Much like marriage, she'd prefer to do this with the blessing of her parents. "And the reason behind your refusal?"

Unlike hers, Elias's sigh is anything but internal. "Because as much as I loathe the idea of a death sentence for crimes not willingly committed, I would rather have blood on my hands than allow you to enter into a contract with this crea—_her_. There's a reason why she's standing her and not her masters; none of them died of old age and I won't let you – _any _of my subjects become another one of her victims."

By the end of the speech his voice has risen, and Anna knows anger has started to get a hold of him, much like it does to her because goddamned it why is he being so bullheaded? Even if it's just a father's desire to protect his daughter, over-protectiveness does have its limits.

"I'm sure it's through no fault of her own," Anna says.

"Then what of the knight she had turned against? Is that also no fault of hers?"

"If she hadn't done that we wouldn't be here squabbling, father. I know you don't trust her, but can you give her credit for saving us, at least?

Through considerable effort she manages to keep her voice level, even as she hopes Elsa will say something, anything to defend herself against the accusation. There _must_ be a reason why she'd turned against the knight, Anna is sure of it. If only she'd put as much effort in speaking as she is in maintaining that carefully blank look.

Anna squeeze Elsa's hand tight, says under her breath, "it'll help greatly if you say something, y'know? I'm kinda fighting a losing battle here?"

Nothing.

_Fine_. Be that way. Everyone's so stubborn these days, what's wrong with them?

She glances through the faces in the crowd, trying to find an answer in one of them. Her mind reels, but still she finds none; they're merely staring at her, waiting for her next rebuttal. But nothing comes and she realises she's running on fumes. There's always the alternative of simply offering Elsa to someone else, but that opens its own can of worms. There's no one she trusts enough to wield something like Elsa – Jan, perhaps, but she has a feeling he'll just use her to create hailstorms at will. Jan's father? But he's retired, and Elsa will just be another decoration above his mantelpiece. _Her _father? Right. That will go so well with her mother.

Crap.

She's run full sprint at the start of a race, and now she's spent before even seeing the finish line.

"Are you quite finished, Anna? Or do you have more to say?"

How polite of her father to ask, even when he knows she doesn't. "Uh…"

"If I may, Your Majesties; Your Highness."

A man breaks free from the crowd, the click clack of his cane loud against the silence as he stops half a dozen paces away from the dais. Despite his limp and the greying hair, there's still enough bulk left, enough authority that even the King can't simply dismiss him.

Lord Gervais, Jan's father.

One of the best people ever to grace this world, in Anna's opinion, right up there with her parents.

"Not you too, Lord Gervais." And if Elias isn't such a King, Anna is sure he will have rolled his eyes. "Please don't tell me you also support my daughter's folly?"

"Elias… at least hear what he has to say. Do speak, Lord Gervais." Cecile.

Gervais bows, then straightens. "My gratitude, Your Majesty. Actually, I just wanted to say that your daughter is brave as she is smart, and you'd do well to listen to her."

Elias quirks an eyebrow, clearly expecting more. "And?"

"And that is all."

Just like that, he turns and limps down the hall, away from the throne and towards the still open doors. He gives Anna a warm smile and pats Elsa on the shoulder as he passes before going though the doorway and turns the corner. Out of sight.

What… was that?

Did he draw all that attention to himself just to say one sentence? So very like him. Quite flattering, though.

"Well then," Anna says. "He's right about me. Perhaps you should listen to him about listening to me?"

Cecile lets out a soft laugh and Elias is reduced to massaging his temple.

"Hardly a convincing argument… and the answer is still no, Anna. Don't make me repeat it thrice. You _are_ my daughter and I do love you dearly, but this is bordering on insolence and I won't take it, even from you."

"Is there nothing I can say to convince you?"

"Nothing. My apologies to you all – my daughter have derailed this court more than long enough. As our agreement goes, Lady Elsa is to be hung tomorrow at dawn. If there are no more objections then this trial is over—"

"Oh but it's not."

"What _now?_"

"This," Anna says. Then takes the bracelet from a pocket in her skirt and holds it up high for the world to see.

Elsa's eyes widen. "No no no Anna _no!_"

She makes a grabbing motion but the chains are too heavy and Anna too fast. By the time her fingers are curled against Anna's wrist, the bracelet is already flush against her other wrist, its metal cold against her skin.

"Too late." She flashes Elsa a wide grin, a violent contrast against the anger flashing through Elsa's face: her teeth barred, her jaws clenched tight. Frost starts to appear, spreading away from her feet, though thankfully no further than a scant few paces away. It's quite a terrifying sight, and Anna is surprised her wrist isn't frozen solid yet. The guards flanking Elsa backs away and several more cowardly nobles have made a hasty exit. But Elsa's anger she'll deal with later. Right now it's Elias she has to placate, because he looks like he's about to have a heart attack.

He's gripping the armrests of his throne, leaning forward stiffly like he's about to jump down and slap some senses into her. Genteel and trusting, but with a temper to match.

"I'm sorry; your forced my hands, father. This is the only way to stop you from killing her."

"If you—" he fumbles, his grip becoming so forceful Anna is afraid the armrests might splinter "—if you think that this silly little trick of yours is going to convince me otherwise then you're _wrong. Guards!_" he roars. "Apprehend the prisoner and send her back to the dungeon and prepare for immediate execution!"

They try. Or at least, one of them try, making a half-hearted sweep at Elsa but immediately backing down when Anna glares him down. "Just try it," she says, more to her father than the guard. "Try it and see what happens. It's a bond of a lifetime, father. What do you think will happen when she dies?"

"_Nothing!"_

"Yes, if you count my death as nothing," Anna says calmly, marveling at what a wonderful liar she's become. "If she dies, I die. That's how the contract works. Right, Elsa?"

A beat passes.

"…yes," Elsa says. Sullen. But at least the frost has disappeared from the floor. So that's a good thing.

"Aaand there you go!"

"You—how dare you—" Elias sputters, his cheeks turning red. "You insolent—"

"You wouldn't want your dearest daughter to die, would you?" Anna flutters her lashes.

"You—you—"

"Go, Anna, before you send him to an early grave. I'll take care of everything from here on," Cecille says, her stern expression almost believable, if Anna hasn't known her so well. It's no secret who's wearing the pants in _that_ relationship.

Flashing her a thankful smile, Anna, well — flees, dragging Elsa behind her, chains and all.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

By the time they've reached her room, Elsa has broken free of her chains. In fact, the chain is flying mid-air now, both halves of it, flying mid-air and landing right at Anna's favourite vase, shattering it into god knows how many pieces.

She _loved_ that pot. Even named it Joan, after her dead pet turtle.

"Um, before you destroy my room and murder me, can I at least have a word in between?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay then."

Elsa is still advancing, and survival instincts dictates that Anna must get away. But Elsa's blocking the door, so the only way out is through the window. The very high up from the ground window. So like the warrior that she is, Anna stands her ground. Only because two broken legs seem like a poorer alternative to being frozen to death.

"You foolish, _foolish _girl," Elsa says, stopping only after she's close enough Anna can see the faint freckles on her skin. Huh. So even supernaturally pretty people have freckles too. "Why would you do something so stupid? Do you not understand the repercussion behind your actions?!"

Anna gives a little shrug. "What repercussions? You and I are bound together, isn't that all to it?"

"It's _not. _Your father is right; all those who own me have met their demise—"

"Do you mind? Not using the word own? I don't like the connotation behind it."

"And this is why—_god._" Elsa groans with frustration. "This is why I don't want you." Okay. That kinda stings. "You're too naïve. If you can't even hear a word without wincing, how would you face the reality of owning me?"

"Not own," Anna says. "Contracted to. I like that better."

"_Silence_." And Anna immediately clamps her mouth shut. For someone who is by all means still officially a prisoner, commanding people seems to come too easily for her. "With me comes war, Anna. Have you any idea how many will wage war against your small kingdom because they desire my powers? Do you know how _many?"_

"No," Anna says, her gaze level against Elsa's. "But neither did you – seeing as you were the one who offered me the bracelet. Didn't you think of this then?"

"I—"

"Thought so."

Elsa is at loss for words, so Anna takes the chance to guide her by the elbow towards the two armchairs arranged in front of the fireplace. Surprisingly, she doesn't resist. Depositing her on one of them, Anna takes her favourite, hugging a cushion close to her chest.

Elsa gives the bracelet a tired, wary glance. "It's not that the consequences have not crossed my mind before – it's just simply the fact that I did not expect you to take it personally upon yourself. This makes you a prime target, do you understand? Every time they attack it's your life on the line. And all for what?"

"All for saving you from a certain death. It's worth it, even you don't seem to think so, judging by your inaction."

"It's not."

"It is," Anna says, adamant. "And that speech wasn't just crap I pulled out of my ass, you know? I meant it. We _are_ weak. Even without you we'd still be at war – didn't you notice that Corona is caught in the crossfire between three warring nations? We make such a lucrative target because we make such a lucrative buffer against the others. You'd know because well, you were one of them."

Elsa glances away. "I apologise."

"Don't."

Elsa then leans forward, and Anna offers her wrist, somehow knowing exactly what she wants. It seems like she's hypersensitive to Elsa's presence now – like every single heartbeat of Elsa's, every single small movement is registered unconsciously. Like Elsa can go halfway across the continent, or mingle with a crowd of a thousand and Anna can still pinpoint where she is exactly. It's a side-effect of the bracelet Anna supposes, and for some reason it doesn't really bother her much.

"Can I…?"

"Sure."

Elsa's fingers are long and slender, and Anna can feel the softness of her touch when her fingertips inadvertently brush against the skin near the bracelet as she examines it, turning Anna's palm upwards and back down again. The tenderness of her touch surprises Anna, as does the pain that flits through her expression. Why does Elsa care so much for a girl she's only met twice?

"Hey Elsa?"

"Yes."

"Can I call you Elsie?"

Still holding Anna's wrist, Elsa gives her a long, hard stare. "Can I call you Annie?"

"If you want?"

"You may not."

Stingy. But it's not like Anna can say Elsie without bursting into giggles, and well, that's not the thing she wants to ask anyway. "Actually, I was wondering if we'd met before?"

"Why would you think that?"

Elsa's touch lingers a moment too long on the base of her thumb and Anna tries not to laugh from the ticklish sensation. She wishes Elsa won't stop the contact; it's warm and nice and she likes it very much.

"Because you know when we first saw each other? I had my leg pinned underneath a body and your bear was charging at me and I could've sworn you said my name then. Did you?"

There's an odd feeling of loss when Elsa withdraws her hand, and Anna has to resist the temptation to pull her hand back and hold it tight against hers.

"I did," Elsa says.

"How did you know? I was wearing a helmet so I know you wouldn't be able to see my face."

"I just do."

"Um…"

Then she says, "you remind me of someone I knew."

That doesn't make more sense than I just do, but it's better than nothing.

"May I ask who? You don't need to answer it if it's too personal," Anna asks tentatively, afraid to cross any invisible boundaries.

"In time."

Yep; boundaries crossed. Maybe that person is an old friend or an old flame, and Anna thinks she'd much prefer not to know if it's the latter. So she changes topics. "All right, I won't pry, then. So um, what does this bracelet do exactly, anyway? I mean I know about being very aware of y—how does the controlling thing work? You say that whoever wears this controls you, yes? Does that mean I can say whatever and you'll do it?"

"Not quite," Elsa says. She's playing with her collar, turning back and forth on her neck. Gaze unfocused, like she's reliving another moment in her life. "It's not words that control me, but pain."

Pain. That's… not good. Anna has an idea what Elsa means by that, but she needs the confirmation. "What do you mean by that?"

"You can wish me pain anytime you want. It's how you'll keep me in line."

"By pain, how much of a pain are we talking?"

"Very."

That one word speaks volumes. Anna loathes Elsa's old contractors already. "Did they… use that much?"

"The crueller of them do. Like the knight your men killed."

"Sorry – let me just ask again. How much of a pain is that pain? I need to know. I think."

"Why don't you try and find out? My reaction will explain it far better than I can."

Elsa has stopped playing with her collar, resting both of her forearms on the armrests. Despite the coolness of her exterior, there's a slight tremor to her hands, and Anna knows enough.

She shakes her head. "No. That won't be necessary. Will never be necessary. I will never do that to you."

Elsa's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Quite a few have said those exact words to me. None of them kept their words."

And thank god all of them are dead, because god knows what Anna will do to them if she ever meets them. "But not me. I'm not one of them." The smile stays, and she knows Elsa doesn't believe her. "Fine. You don't believe me and that's okay – I don't blame you. I guess I'll just have to prove my words then. I don't know why, but I know you won't hurt me. So I won't hurt you and that's that."

"That's because I can't."

"Excuse me?"

Once again Elsa holds her hand for Anna. Once their hands touch, frost starts to appear around Anna's wrist and she tries to yank her hand back, but Elsa holds it tight.

"_What the hell—"_

"Tell me. Does it hurt?"

Even in near panic, she realises it doesn't. Not even cold. Quite comfortable, even. She looks up at Elsa, confused. "Well no? But it should, shouldn't it. I mean it's ice and all. Shouldn't I at least feel a little bit cold?"

"That's what I mean."

Understanding dawns. "Holy crap," Anna says. "_Holy crap_ I'm immune to you!"

"Quite. I can even throw a spike at you and… I've never done that before, now that I think of it. Do you want to try?"

"Um, no thanks?" Anna says haltingly, wondering if she's serious.

"Pity."

Anna decides that she is, just for the sake of not being impaled by anything.

Once again Elsa withdraws her hand and once again Anna feels the loss. Then her eyes travel down Elsa's neck and she realises the woman is still wearing the prisoner's garb.

"Oh crap. Sorry, I hadn't realised you're still dressed that way. Do you wanna borrow one of my dresses until we get you new ones? They should fit you just fine, maybe a bit short on the hem but it's better than what you're wearing right now."

"Why?"

_Why? _"Because it's what prisoners wear?"

"I like it. I think it's practical."

"Practical or not, it's still not something you'd wear outside a cell. Besides, it's such a waste. I liked your dress so much better and that looks so much more impractical. Not that I condone wearing something so impractical to fight in, but hey, it seemed to have worked for you. So wanna choose a dress together?"

"As you wish. But before that I have a request."

"Yeah?"

"I would like a bath."

"Of course! I'll tell the maids to prepare it for you. Just stay here while you wait – I have a secret chocolate stash underneath the bed so you can have it too if you like, just don't eat it all," Anna says, smiling brightly at Elsa. Despite everything she's still a woman, after all. All women like baths and she's determined to give Elsa the best bath ever. With bubbles and stuff. She pats Elsa on the knee and rises, walking towards the door. Resting her hand on the handle, she stops and glances back. "Oh and I'm going to find my mother and find out if it's safe enough from my father's wrath or if I should evacuate the castle for the night, so I might take a while. But the maid will point you to the right direction. Just try to not scare them too much. And Els?"

"Yes."

"I like your hair down better."


	3. a boon and a bane

**3.**

"How old are you?"

"Old."

"In years?"

"Those are two questions. That's not the way this works, Anna."

"Have I told you how much of a cheapskate you are?"

"Three."

"_Fine._"

With that line of questioning forced shut, Anna focuses once more on simply observing Elsa's movements, her chin resting on her palms.

"You're massacring the poor rabbit," she points out. "Actually, you're massacring it so hard I don't think we can eat it anymore. There goes dinner."

Elsa looks up from the bloody carcass in her hands, eyes narrowing from annoyance. "If you're so adept at this, why don't _you_ do it?"

"Can't, and that's a question. What's your favourite food?"

"Chocolate."

Anna smiles. "A woman of my own heart. And I can't do it because my wrists still hurt and I'd rather not aggravate them further."

And it does. Elsa makes a terrific sparring partner as much as she makes a terrific destroyer of rabbit carcass. Her favourite method of disarming is a quick riposte and an earth shattering blow to the wrists with the pommel of her blade, and Anna's lucky her wrists are only swollen and not shattered to bits. Though she likes how Elsa doesn't hold back (much), because being treated like a dainty princess by the men she's fought alongside with can get aggravating at times. "Leave that one alone; that's hopeless. Try again with the next, you're doing better already. Make your blade duller and be careful with the skin," she says again. "Try to not break the skin much – we'll bring it back and give it to the tanner. I do need some new riding gloves."

Elsa nods and tosses the poor mangled rabbit aside, grabbing another one from a pile of three. Setting the new rabbit on the ground belly up, she leans down from the log she's sitting on and makes a small incision on the base of its chest– shallow enough as not to puncture any organs – and draws the small knife she's conjured out of thin air downward. No guts spill out, Anna notes with relief. But then she draws too deep, almost nicking the pocket of stomach under the skin and Anna has to bite down a warning. Elsa hates being interrupted, and that's one of the few scant knowledge Anna has gained from their talks together.

Thankfully it's not a grievous error, and Elsa recovers after a small scowl. She's peeling the skin sideways now, using her knife at times when the skin is stubbornly clinging to flesh. Her hair is spilling over her shoulders and Anna finds herself captivated by the colour. It reminds her of spun silver, or if someone has decided to collect all the stars on the sky and weave it into a thread that is Elsa's hair.

Or whatever. She's never too good with metaphors. And like how she likes Elsa's hair down, she also likes the outfit Elsa has picked. In the end they didn't end up choosing a dress; Elsa had simply beelined straight towards where Anna had store her more practical outfits and picked from there. Even now, what Elsa's wearing hasn't deviated from the theme she'd chosen then. Maroon bodice over a white blouse, knee high riding boots over tight dark breeches.

The look fits her like a glove and Anna feels a stir of envy. No one will mistake Elsa as frail, even when she's wearing that impractical dress at their first meeting.

Elsa's still skinning the rabbit.

"You're very pretty, you know," Anna says.

"Four."

"That's not a question. Fine. Your turn. Shoot."

"What's your favourite colour?"

"Blue."

Elsa looks up then. There's a slight furrow to her brows, the shade of blue that is Anna's favourite colour catching the reflection of fire. "Blue? I thought… nevermind; I am confusing you with someone else." The friend or lover, Anna thinks, but doesn't inquire further. At least Elsa is listening instead of just going through the motions of entertaining her questions, and that's good enough for her. "Answering your question: it's not a compliment I'm unused to receiving."

"Aaaaand just as modest, it seems."

"I'm ornamental as I am practical, Anna. Sometimes it's a boon. Often times it isn't."

"How isn't it a boon?"

Maybe Elsa's right about her naivety, but Anna can't imagine a scenario where good looks can be a detriment. She's heard enough from her ladies-in-waiting to know that it's a much coveted feature, much like wealth or a position in the court. Her mother is beautiful too, and that has come useful more than once in negotiations. Hiding steel underneath the velvet of her looks, she'll smile and laugh and titter, then promptly wrench the position of power from her opponent's hands. It's not quite as useful now that her reputation has preceded her, but Anna still feels sorry for her father, sometimes.

Sighing, Elsa takes her hand away from the carcass and wipes the knife on the sole of her boot. She looks at Anna straight in the eye. "Why do you think it isn't?"

A question for a question.

Anna shrugs. "It just seems a useful thing to have, that's all."

Wordlessly Elsa resumes the skinning of the rabbit, sliding her knife under the skin. Once there's only a sliver of skin attached to the body, she rips it away with much more force than needed and tosses it aside. Then she slices the belly open, exposing the guts to the air. Finally she says, "when I told you I obey my master's each and every whim I do mean it."

Guts spill to the ground and the implication behind Elsa's words hits Anna like a brick.

She wants to reach out and hug Elsa, comfort her, tell her that everything's all right and she's so terribly sorry. But how can she? There's something so disquieting about touching a woman whose stories she's grown up with, something about Elsa's bearing that prevents the thought of touching her, just like how one doesn't casually run her hand through fire.

So she doesn't. Simply chooses to apologise through the safe buffer of their distance. Her apology starts and stumbles and she says she's sorry, she says how terrible it must have been, she's sorry for bringing it up and

And how can she not?

Because the pain on Elsa's face is terrible to behold even as she brushes off Anna's apologies with a casualness that's almost practised. Dusting imaginary lint off her skirt, Anna stands and skirts around the fire and the guts, sitting herself besides Elsa.

"I'm sorry," she says again. She wants to put a hand on Elsa's shoulder, but fears that her touch might be misconstrued as something else. "You shouldn't have to go through that. No one should. It's wrong."

"It's as wrong or as right as the pieces of metal that bind us together. A fact of life, simple as that," Elsa says, not looking at Anna. She flicks the remaining guts out of the rabbit with the point of her knife then cuts off the legs and the tuft of tail. "What next?"

"Cut it in two."

Elsa does.

"Now we cook it," Anna says. She takes one both pieces – minding the blood – and reaches down, taking the sticks she's sharpened beforehand with her free hand and impales both in the middle. She then jams the sticks so they are angled towards the fire. Taking the canteen near the log, she runs the water through her hands and motions at Elsa to do the same. "Then we wait."

"How long?"

"Until it cooks. And if I said that won't happen under me, will you believe me?"

"Many have said the exact same words."

And there's that smile again. They've gone a full circle. It seems like nothing she says will convince Elsa, but regardless, she tries. "It won't. I mean, how can I? I'm not a man—"

"Not only men. The women are gentler, but they can be as cruel or worse. Lust goes regardless of gender. Not even lust. Often times it's just a power play, to show me who exactly is in charge. It's a way to break someone, and it can be a very effective tool."

"Then tell me," Anna says gently. "Do I strike you as cruel?"

She wants to reach forward, cup Elsa's cheek, wipe that smile of Elsa's face. But of course she can't. She's regretting that fact that it wasn't her sword that had fallen the knight. If she knew this then, she would have done much more. So much more.

"You do not. You will never be cruel, Anna. It's never in your nature." Elsa speaks as if she's known Anna for a lifetime. She lifts her hand and it hovers in the space between them, before dropping it back onto her lap.

Anna thinks that maybe she isn't the only one who wants to initiate physical contact but won't. It's a thought that signifies nothing, so she asks instead, "then why won't you trust me?"

Elsa lets out a sigh. "Because as you would not attack the enemy head on, I would prefer not to put my heart on a platter. It was something I did all too often in my youth, and I've learned my lesson. I won't repeat that mistake again."

"You guard your heart zealously. I would never expect someone like you to say something like that."

"I am only human."

"That you are."

A few days ago Anna will have scoffed at the statement, maybe laugh at the absurdity, but that's before she's met Elsa and gotten to know her. Beneath all that ice and carefully blank look it's just a woman sitting beside her after all. A woman made from flesh and blood just as Anna is.

She turns the sticks to allow the raw side to cook, no longer in the mood for light hearted banter.

"We'll have to meet them tomorrow, y'know," she says absently, staring into the fire. "My parents I mean."

"How will they react?"

A shrug. "Mama will just be amused, as she always is. Papa? Probably torn between beheading you or beheading me or beheading us both. But he'll be fine. Mostly. Maybe."

There's a reason why she's spent the last three days in one of Gervais's cottages in the woods, away from the castle. Unlike Gervais, Elias has been anything but supporting, and she'd rather not brace the storm at its strongest. Not only that, she knows her speech about fending off invasion with Elsa by their side has also sparked enough interest that it's best for her just to remove herself from the picture all together, let it calm down before she makes another move. And well, here they are, roasting rabbits together like a very poor imitation of having high tea together.

She reminds herself to dig a hole for the entrails before dinner's done.

"I hope he will not try to kill me again. It will be such a shame, when I've grown quite used to your presence."

Anna chuckles. "Don't worry, he won't. Not with my lie about dying alongside you. Besides, we're pretty much nearly married already, with the bracelet and all. Killing you would be like killing my fiancé, and that's not very nice."

"But I did kill him."

"What?"

"Nothing important," Elsa says. "Merely a stray thought."

"…if you say so."

Once again they lapse into silence. It's the kind of easy silence shared between two women comfortable with another's presence.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

Having started right at the break of dawn, they arrived at the castle with enough time to spare for a bath, a change of clothes, a conversation that thoroughly revolves around the weather over a box of chocolates (and Elsa _does _like her chocolates) and finally, enough time to converse with hushed voices in front of a door.

A passing maid curtsies, giving them a strange look and Anna grins and bids her good morning, watching her turn the corner before turning to Elsa again.

"What I'm saying is, we need a game plan, Els," she says, voice sibilant from trying to keep it in a whisper. "We can't just go in there willy nilly and hope for the best."

"And why not," Elsa says in very much her normal voice, and it takes everything in Anna to not tell her to lower it. Again.

"Becauuuse." The word comes in something that's almost a whine. "Aren't you even the slightest bit scared? He's my father, but he's still the King, you know. His words are still the law. Most of the time, anyway."

The law besides the times when a wayward, rebellious daughter is involved, that is.

"I'm used to dealing with royalty," Elsa says calmly. Anna has to yank Elsa's hand off the door handle. Again. Does this woman even _know_ the word self-preservation? "Do you not think it will be over much faster if we just go in instead of wasting time planning for every single scenario that might or might not happen?"

"No?"

Rolling her eyes, Elsa unceremoniously flings the door open and strides inside, leaving Anna to stumble after her, Anna's cries of Elsaaaaaaaa whyyyyyy deftly ignored. Elsa is _very _good at ignoring things when she wants to.

Three pairs of eyes are immediately on them.

Elias is sitting at the head of the table, flanked by Cecile and Gervais on each of his side. The milk Elias is pouring in his coffee flows over the rim of the cup, and Anna manages a weak smile.

"Morning papa, mama. Lord Gervais. Hope we didn't interrupt… or anything?"

Elsa merely bows, her breeches disallowing a curtsy. Anna seriously wants to bludgeon that woman to death.

"Good morning to both of you," Cecile says. She smiles and pats the sit next to her. "If you don't mind, you can sit beside me, Lady Elsa."

"Just Elsa is fine, Your Majesty."

"Just Elsa, then. Come. Anna can sit beside Lord Gervais and talk about handsome horses and bows and whatever they fancy."

"I don't think the King will be very pleased with my presence at the table, Your Majesty," Elsa says.

"Him? Oh please. Ignore him until he stops being a child, if you must." Cecile makes a dismissive gesture and turns to Elias. "And you _will _stop that petulance. It hardly befits a King."

After muttering something that sounds like why did I even marry this tyrant of a woman, Elias snorts but otherwise obliges, giving Elsa and Anna the worst impersonation of a congenial smile Anna has ever seen.

She wants to stick her tongue out at him, but decides against it and plops next to Gervais, Elsa already seated next to Cecile. Anna's greeted by a warm smile and a tussle to the hair by Gervais.

"Did you two have a nice evacuation? I hope my cottage has served your getaway excellently," he says.

"Oh, your cottage have been more than fine. The roof kinda leaks a bit though – we had to move the beds because it was raining right on our heads."

"Fixing that will be my highest priority then." Laughing, he slides a cup of tea towards Anna, then asks Elsa, "and what would you like, Elsa? Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee will be fine, thank you. Black." Elsa says.

He takes the pot and pours the coffee into an empty cup and offers it to her.

Elsa takes a sip as Elias clears his throat.

"As much as I love pleasantries, I think it's best if—"

"How has my daughter treated you, Elsa?"

He shoots Cecile a look so full with annoyance and defeat it breaks Anna's heart terribly if it weren't so funny. Serves him right for the stubbornness he's exhibited. Poor papa, always at mama's mercy.

"Cecile…"

"Oh don't rush us, Elias. These poor girls haven't even had the chance to touch their breakfast yet," Cecile says.

He sighs. The sigh of a weary, defeated man. "Fine, fine. Continue your dainty talk about the weather and whatnot. Just ignore the King in the room."

Her smile is triumphant. She can be quite petty, at times. "Of course we will, my dear. So, Elsa?"

"She has treated me very well, Your Majesty. A kinder master I could not hope for."

"Likewise, just Cecile will do. And she doesn't quite take to being called master I'd presume, judging from the way her face is contorting."

Buttering a bread, Anna shoots Elsa a glare. Hadn't she told her to stop using that word? Seriously, that woman. Having finished buttering the bread, she then slaps some ham on top if it with vengeance, adds a few slices of cheese with equal vengeance and finally tops it off with another bread.

"Here," she says, dropping the sandwich on Elsa's plate. She knows from the three days they've spent together that Elsa's appetite is at best weak and at worst non-existent. She'll starve to death if left to her own devices, and Anna's determined not to let that happen. "And never ever use that word again. Ever. Or I'll use that sandwich to slap some sense into you."

"I apologise," Elsa says. But she's smiling faintly as she takes a bite out of her sandwich, and Anna's glad for that.

"You can call me Mistress Anna though. I've always liked the sound of that."

"Thank you, but I think I'll pass."

"Cheapskate."

Observing their interaction with an air of amusement, Cecile refills her cup of tea and says, "it seems like they're already close to another. Would you not agree, Alexander?"

"Quite. They do make a fetching pair, if I say so myself," Gervais says with the same glint in his eyes. "Now if only you would cease being so stubborn, Elias. They say it's bad for your health and I must agree; you're not looking well lately."

"That's only because I've been up for the last few days worried sick about my daughter's foolishness," Elias says, his fingers tapping the table in a burst of rhythmic staccato. "Do you ever think before you act, Anna?"

Ugh. Not this again.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Anna starts making another sandwich, this time for herself. "Trust me; I thought way too long before I decided that that's the only way to save Elsa. And Corona. You can blame your stubbornness on that, papa."

"We would be _fine _without her! And there's no ignoring the fact that having her here just makes us a prime target—"

"_More _of a prime target, you mean. And _her_ name is Elsa. Let's not talk as if Elsa isn't here."

Sighing, Elias says, "I… apologise, Lady Elsa. That was quite rude of me."

"No offense taken, Your Majesty," Elsa says with an incline to her head.

Anna notices that neither of them has offered to be called on a first name basis. Elsa's placidity in front of an irked King is admirable though. She really isn't kidding when she said she's used to royalty. Maybe one of her contractors was a King or Queen or something.

"Actually, both of are you right," Gervais says. "Though I disagree about being fine without Elsa on our side… do you not remember the attack by Sommerfelt? If not for the freak storm, we would not have recovered enough to fend of the army brought in by the Southern Isles, with or without Elsa on the helm."

"And quite lucky indeed Elsa has decided in our favour. It seems our victories are due to nothing but luck lately," Cecile says. She takes the tea pot and hovers it above Gervais's cup. "Another cup, Alexander?"

"Please and thank you." Cecile pours the tea and Gervais turns his attention towards Elsa. "Come to think of it, neither you nor Anna have explained why you chose us instead of a more powerful nation. Sommerfelt is quite nice at this time of the year, I heard. Very pleasant."

"I have my own reasons," Elsa says, giving the same non-answer as she did towards Anna.

She's finished her sandwich Anna notices, and she sets forth to make a new one but stops when Elsa gives her a look. Then resumes her movement, deciding to make it anyway. "Don't even bother asking her to clarify, sometimes talking to her is like pulling teeth," Anna says as she piles even more ham than before. "But she won't harm us because of well, me. So yeah."

"I've insinuated nothing of the sort. I'm quite happy to take your word for it, Anna." Gervais leans back, apparently not bothered by Elsa's lack of meaningful answer. "Now the questions are: how can we use her? If you'd pardon my words, Elsa, but you _are_ a weapon after all. I hope it doesn't offend you much."

"It doesn't."

"I'm glad. Now the next question: what will their reaction be? Words should be travelling about your new arrangement now – and I presume since you've most likely dealt with this situation before, you're the most qualified of us to answer."

Elsa gives the newly created sandwich Anna has deposited on her plate a long look before answering. "I've no answer for the other kingdoms, however I know the Southern Isles will continue sending their troops until they can't afford to anymore. They are proud and you did kill one of their Princes. The King's favourite, if I may add."

Four pair of eyes stare at her blankly.

"What Prince?" Elias asks. Wary.

"My knight. Did you not know?" Anna wants to bury her face in her sandwich. Oh god why. And judging by Elias's expression, he's thinking the exact same thing. Elsa sweeps her gaze around the table, takes their various expressions of shock in, and sighs. "I suppose none of you did. I apologise – I should not have assumed. I would have said something sooner."

"Yeah… you kinda should've," Anna says, shoulders slumping. They really, _really _can't afford to start an ongoing war. Sporadic attacks are bad enough, but those are mostly attacks of opportunity. Killing a Prince? That's an entirely different matter. "What do we do now?"

Playing with her collar, Elsa appears to mull. "You said that you're caught between three warring nations?"

Cecile takes it upon herself to answer. "Correct. Those would be Sommerfelt, the Southern Isles and Errenburg."

"Which one is the most disadvantaged?

"Errenburg, I think." This time it's Elias, apparently having given up with being angry at Anna in the face of a more pressing matter. He strokes his beard, pondering. "Their infantry is quite impressive, but due to their mountainous terrain they've neglected their cavalry and they're paying for it dearly, especially after Sommerfelt has figured that burning whole patches of mountains at a time is easier than engaging them in their turf."

"And if I recall correctly, the only reason why the Southern Isles has yet to set their full might on Errenburg is only because you're directly in the path, yes?"

"Quite correct, sadly," Elias says.

"And why aren't you both allies? It seems like the most logical thing to do."

"Because they think it's just a matter of time we're taken so why bother protecting another territory that's doomed to fall?" Anna says flippantly, spearing a sausage from the communal platter with her fork.

"_Anna!_"

"Oh don't give me that tone, papa. You know I'm right. Don't you agree, mama? Lord Gervais?"

"Unfortunately. If you'd swallow your pride for just a moment, Elias," Cecile suggests gently. "We can't keep walking the path of ruin just because you're too proud to admit we're crumbling, and fast. You know better than that, and it shouldn't take Elsa's presence to spur this conversation. I won't let you turn a deaf ear to the plea of our people anymore."

Gervais too, steps up, supporting Cecile. "Harsh as her words maybe be, there's truth in it. I know you're content with being sitting ducks because we're too weak for anything else, but now that Elsa is here, we finally have the leverage we need. I suggest you take advantage of her, as she seems quite keen to help. There's no need to be afraid anymore."

Anna watches carefully for her father's reaction. There's a moment when he looks like he wants to strike Gervais for having the audacity to suggest that he might be in the wrong, but it seems like reason has finally won against impulse after a long silent battle, his face smoothening into a neutral, if not somewhat weary expression.

Anna breathes a sigh of relief. She knows Elias isn't the cowardly King many of his subjects have led to believe. He simply needs a spur, a prod to the right direction, and she's glad he's come through.

"I— It… pains me to hear those words from those closest to me, but even with dented pride, I must admit that you're right. You all are. I apologise for my less than favourable attitude towards you, Lady Elsa. You don't deserve it – clearly what you did was against your will and it would do me well to finally accept that."

"Suspicion is quite natural, Your Majesty – it _is_ a valuable trait. I would judge you more unfavourably should you accept my presence without so much of a doubt. A trusting King a dead King makes."

Anna's jaw drops. Seriously, Elsa? He's beginning to trust you and here you are encouraging suspicion against you? What the hell. She must have been dropped on the head as a baby.

But despite that, Elias simply nods. "You're quite right. I'll take that to mind." They both _must_ have been dropped on the head. But well, at least now they're amicable towards each other. Two steps forward. "So you were suggesting that we try to form an alliance with Errenburg? I'm not quite sure they will agree…"

"They will, now that you have me," Elsa says.

Whoa. Such confidence.

"That's true, your might _is_ unparalleled after all. I'll draft a missive and send a messenger to Errenburg at once. Is there anything else we should do?"

It's strange how easily the tables have turned, Elsa going from a person to be wary of to someone they're actively asking advice from. But Anna's not going to question the turn of events – that's one problem out of her mind. She's just glad that they're not treating Elsa with suspicion anymore; she doesn't deserve that. Anna knows that Elsa is a good person, deep inside, and it'll be nice if they can see that too.

"First step will be to levy more land taxes – a five percent increase will do. It's so low right now your vassals can take it without much strain to their resources. Use that arm your soldiers, hire mercenaries. I won't tell you to build more warships because you can't possibly compete with the Southern Isle's navy in such a short span of time; if ever. They will also be moot once you take the Southern Isles…"

"Take the Southern Isles you say? Aiming a bit high, aren't we?" Cecile says with the tell-tale of amusement.

"Not immediately. All in due time, of course. I can't say that I am not bitter of their treatment of me, so I won't say that it's exclusively for your benefits."

"As long it aligns with our interest, of course. Their location and massive ports do make a lucrative trade route that will benefit us greatly." Once again Elias is stroking his beard, as he always does when he's deep in thought. "But even with increased taxes – and let's pretend my ministers will agree – and assume we do have enough to hire mercenaries, I don't see how we can amass enough men to make a sizeable army. And if you're planning on conscripting, I would have to respectfully decline. Retaliation is one thing, but that crosses my boundaries, I'm afraid."

Elsa appears nonplussed. "There are not enough mercenaries in your kingdom?"

Oh right. She's used to being in big, powerful nations. Of course she's only vaguely aware at how pathetic their current condition is.

"Why would they?" Anna asks with a shrug. "We have nothing to offer them, and until recently we've been quite at peace. So yeah."

"I see… that's unfortunate."

Silent until now, Gervais decides to seize the moment. "Actually, I think I might have a suggestion. You see – the tribes, they've been infesting our lands like vermins. Very annoying, those people. They raid our villages and take precious livestock, kidnap our women, kill our men. Wouldn't it be quite nice if we can somehow subjugate them in a way that benefits us?"

Raising an eyebrow, Elsa says, "you want me to… recruit them?"

"Sure. If Elias here is too stingy to lend you his soldiers, use mine. My people are taking the brunt of their raids, after all, and hearing complaints after complaints from grieving families does get tiring after a while."

"You sly old fox," Elias says, shaking his head. "Do what you will, the both of you. I assume my daughter will be going with you?"

"Of course!" Anna says.

They both ignored her. What's with people and ignoring her nowadays?

"Unfortunately our bond doesn't allow any of us to stray far from each other. By your permission, of course."

Elsa still hasn't touched her sandwich, so Anna decides to deposit some sausages on top of it. They'll need all the energy they can get if this conversation is going where she thinks it's going.

"Even without that, preventing her from joining a fight is like… well, like something direly impossible. As long as I have your word that you'll protect her."

"With my life."

Elias nods, drinks the last of his coffee and rises, offering his hand towards Cecile. "Then I'll leave the three of you to plot. Now I have ministers to convince. Wish me luck, because I'll need all I can get. Come, Cecile. I need you to kill them with your charm."

Taking his arm, Cecile chuckles as she rises to join him. "Of course, dear. Have fun, children. Do keep safe. Convince both Elias and I that Anna is right about you, hmm?"

"Of course, Cecile," Elsa says.

With that, they're gone, and Anna turns her attention towards Gervais, who is currently her most favourite person on the word. "So. When we gonna do this?"

"Tonight, actually. I've caught wind of their next target, and you can't blame an old man for having his men prepared and ready to indulge in his paranoia, can you?"

The twinkle in his eyes is familiar, and Anna grins in return. "No, no they can't. I guess we'll have to go and verify for ourselves then. Y'know. Just in case."

"Quite, my dear. Quite."

"And Elsa? Eat the food on your plate. I won't have you fainting from an empty stomach mid-battle. You _did _promise to protect me, so for me? Please?"

Sullen, Elsa glares daggers at her, but otherwise obliges, starting off with the sausages that are starting to leave grease marks on the bread of her sandwich.

Anna can't help but smile, pleased at how things are proceeding. She can only hope the winds will continue blowing in their favour.


	4. for your greater good

**4.**

"How far?"

"Six hundred steps until it starts, roughly," Anna says.

Six hundred steps until her ears start to ring with a persistent, high pitched whine. Seven hundred until the pounding in her head starts. Eight hundred until she can no longer form a coherent thought. She's tested this thoroughly, walking in straight line away from Elsa until she can't take it anymore and has to half-crawl, half-walk back, or until Elsa finds her and nulls the pain with her presence, even when the contortions of her own face mirrors Anna's. It's just a shadow of the pain Anna can inflict should she chooses to, Elsa tells her.

The leash goes both ways, but she's not the one who has it tied around her neck.

"That's far enough. You stay in the camp—"

Anna crosses her arms. "No."

"Then at the back of the formation—"

"No. I'll be right next to you and that's final."

"Anna…"

"No." The word repeats itself like a musician's tireless arpeggio and Anna's arms doesn't leave her chest. "Don't treat me like a helpless damsel in distress, Elsa. I've proved my worth in a fight more than enough times, so I'd prefer if you don't think of me as a Princess playing war. I'm _not _helpless. And if you say it's for my own good, I swear I'll drown you in the moat myself."

Palms spread over the map, Elsa is still pouring over it, scarcely giving Anna a glance. As if she's won the conversation in her mind and Anna's words are just humdrum she can't wait to pass by. How can someone apathetic enough to have accepted her death sentence so meekly be so wilful? Elsa can be infuriating at times, and the more time they've spent together the more Anna starts to realise that fact. Once again she opens her mouth to give Elsa a piece of her mind but then

"Is it just me or is the _tension_ between you two so I feel like can run my sword through it?" says Jan, who has replaced his suspicion of Elsa with merciless, inappropriate jokes about their bond (or bondage, as he likes to say). He's the self-appointed jester no one finds funny.

"That's quite inappropriate in the presence of Princess, Jan," Elsa says, looking at him from her end of the table. Anna nods vigorously. "Though I will notify you should it happens, as it seems you might very much appreciate a personal account."

Anna's mouth stays open. Like how she has realised that Elsa can be infuriating, she's also learned that Elsa also has a sense of humour. The kind of humour that appears so rarely and delivered with a face so straight you wonder whether it's happened at all. Probably prefer if it's not happened at all.

"A _very_ detailed personal account," Jan says. She wants to punch that smirk off his face.

"Of course." And Elsa. She also wants to punch Elsa. On the gut. Because unlike Jan's face punching hers will be akin to doodling over a great Sarkesian painting with a charcoal stick. "But only if you give me your word that you'll stay by her side and protect her from harm. Do you understand me?"

"You have my most sincere word," he says.

They shake hands, and Anna feels like she can't possibly say anything that will rectify the situation. Not only due to the distastefulness of the joke, there's also the abject ridiculousness with the thought of Elsa and her ever… consummating (because what are they besides already married in all but documents? That's one thing Jan gets right. All in life and death), because Elsa is still fire in her mind.

"A compromise, Anna," Elsa says, noticing the grimace on her face. "Not beside me, but behind me with Jan. That's the best I can offer."

Anna huffs. "It's not like I have any choice, do I?"

"Your word, Anna."

"No."

Because she's a woman of her words, and this isn't one she's planning to keep. If she agrees at all, it's just for the sake of moving the conversation forward.

"Don't be so bullheaded, Princess. How can you deny a simple man his only entertainment?"

She chucks a paperweight at him, deliberately missing. Simple her ass. More like fiercely intelligent and deceptively lazy. Pity he can't feign not being the highly esteemed Lord Gervais's first-born son. Serves him right.

He chuckles, and she decides to ignore him for the rest of the night, choosing to focus on the oncoming battle instead. Also because it serves him right, that dunce.

"So flogging the dead horse called Anna aside – and I haven't changed my mind by the way, so don't even try – fifty strong huh? And we're only bringing ten of our own why?"

"Because I'm more than enough. Those ten are only there to take the prisoners; I'll do all the work beforehand." Elsa lifts her hands off the map and takes Anna's helmet from its place near the map, having been tossed there carelessly by Anna when they entered Gervais's war room. "Jan, tell them to get ready. We'll leave as soon as I'm done here."

"Righty-ho. Don't take too long, otherwise I might have to come by and check." His tone is neutral enough, but she can hear the lewd suggestion behind them. Whistling, he takes his sword, straps it to his belt and exits, closing the door behind him.

A very unnecessary action, in Anna's opinion; it's not like she and Elsa are going to do anything but have a polite conversation that can totally be done with the door open. Jan might be handsome with his blond hair and the rugged good looks he's inherited from his father, but once a pervert always a pervert. Right now his attractiveness hovers around zero, in her mind.

And Elsa's still examining Anna's helmet, turning it this way and that, holding it up against the light to catch any dents, running her fingers over the surface to check for any imperfection.

"It's old," Elsa says, frowning. "When did you last replace it?"

Anna shrugs. "A few years ago. I don't really use leather helmets often and I don't really get blows to my head. I mean, except that one time where Horse kicked me…" Yep; she named her horse Horse and she's proud of it. "Or did you find anything wrong with it?"

"A few scratches here and there but it's fine. Hold your arms out, sideways."

Anna does, and Elsa moves to her side after placing the helmet back onto the table. Anna feels the straps to her breastplate being undone, and she angles her neck down, watching the movement of Elsa's shoulders as she redoes the straps, undoes it, then redoes it again. Elsa's overprotectiveness can be infuriating, but she also finds it sweet that Elsa cares so much. She wonders if Elsa is always like this to her previous contractors. The nice ones, anyway.

"Found something wrong there too?" Anna asks.

Elsa's hair shifts over her shoulder, revealing the nape of her neck. Anna looks away, suddenly finding the far wall very fascinating.

"Just slightly loose."

"…good to know."

One last tug and Elsa withdraws into an arm's length, appraising Anna up and down, from the top of her head down to her toes. Apparently satisfied, she nods. "Your hair."

"Okay."

Anna's tied her hair into a bun and wrapped her braids around it as she always does when she wears a helmet, but her bangs are still too short to be tied back along with the bun so she's going about to rectify it right now, tucking stray hair behind her ears, smoothing her bangs sideways. Just when she thinks she's done, Elsa reaches forward, knuckles brushing Anna's cheekbone as she tucks a lock of hair Anna's missed.

"Sorry; you missed a bit there." Elsa smiles, then. A very small smile, but sincere and warm. Anna likes those smiles, rare as they are. It makes Elsa a little bit more Elsa instead of the faceless woman from the books. "Now wrists."

Anna holds her wrists out, palms up. "Don't worry about them. Good as new."

"Let me be the judge of that," Elsa says, thumbs on the tendons of Anna's wrist, circling slowly, rhythmically up, sideways, down to the palms. Then they stop in their tracks, Elsa's thumbs in the middle of Anna's palm, fingers loose against the base of her wrists.

Elsa's touch lingers a bit too long for simple observation, and once again Anna finds the wall very fascinating indeed. "Um," she says to the wall, "is it okay or…"

Elsa dallies so long in letting go she thinks it's with reluctance, if it's not Elsa she's talking about. But it _is_ Elsa, so she's probably just making sure they're indeed all right. "…they're all right. Now ankle."

"Ankle what ankle."

Rising an eyebrow, Elsa says, "the one you twisted?"

Oh. That. The ankle Anna thought she broke. But you can hardly blame a woman for being a bit dramatic when she's about to be eaten by a bear made out of _ice_, can you? So she wiggles it, or tries to, because there's only so much wiggling that can be done when her boots are stiff enough to deflect anything short of a claymore to her leg. Janus has always been pretty big on safety.

"It's fine," she says. "Fully mobile and all. Or you want me to take it off too to check for yourself?"

"No. I'd rather not risk someone coming in on us and starting a rumour mill that I'm soiling the Princess's innocence in a Lord's war room."

Oh, right. It's another one of Elsa's off-colour not-jokes. "Ahaa…"

Elsa then slides the helmet gently down Anna's head, giving it slight wiggles on the way down to ensure the fit.

"Y'know," Anna says once it's securely on her head, "I find it kinda unfair I'm going to sweat under all this armour – I mean leather is lighter than steel, but still, stifling. And you're just wearing _clothes._ Can't you at least wear gloves? Share my pain?"

"I dislike gloves," Elsa says simply. "And unlike you, I don't need armour to remain anonymous. I would still prefer if you wear a full face helmet – but I suppose this obscures enough that it shouldn't matter."

Anna makes a face. "Yeah – let's not even think of that; I'll die from heat stroke. I only wore a full plate when we met because we knew you'd be icy. Well not you specifically, but everything _was_ kinda icy. I don't think any of us have seen so much ice in our lifetime."

Elsa lets out a small laugh. "I'm glad I was quite a spectacle, then. Though I wish the circumstances have been different."

Oh, but you're always a spectacle.

"Well, you did what you had to do. I'll have to talk to the men who fought there, but I'm sure with some convincing they'll start to understand. Well; lots of convincing. But I'll do my best."

"Thank you, Anna. I appreciate you trying."

Anna grins. "Hey no problem. I mean, if we're gonna be stuck together for life, I'd rather people like my other half too."

"Then I hope you won't think too lowly of me after today."

Huh? "What do you mean? We're just going to negotiate, right?"

"Yes," Elsa says, already turning. "Come; we have a task to finish. Let us not let Lord Gervais down."

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

Ten of Gervais's handpicked men, Jan, Elsa and herself.

Much too few, Anna thinks, lips moving silently as she counts the number of torches below their vantage point. "Forty-three," she says, voice low.

Through the corner of her eye she sees the shadow of Jan's nod, crouched as she is, hidden behind the silhouette of tall trees. As the rest of them are. "Sounds about right. Torches though – they're getting more brazen by the year. They used to try harder at being subtle."

"It was a harsh winter – doubly more so in the mountains. I understand their desperation."

"Doesn't make it right to take it out on our people. They suffered, too. Did they not think of that?"

_Her _people. And these men with their torches are her people just as much as the villagers, as Jan and his men are, because do these men not reside in Corona just as they all are? But she doesn't expect him to understand when it's his fief that's suffered the brunt of the raids. It has even caused the rare discord between Gervais and her father – and that rarely happens, if ever. She wonders if they've patched things up as they've been quite cordial to each other lately. Still, Jan has explicitly stated that they're going to merely subdue these men – no harm done, so it's better than nothing.

It's odd that they're not attempting a flank though, or even have a sharpshooter amongst them, because no matter how high their vantage point is, it's still merely a hill, and should they rush down they'll still meet the bulk of the raiders head on. Elsa is strong, but surely they won't rely on her alone?

"Hey Els? This is part of the plan, right? We're just going to subdue and negotiate, like you promised."

A heartbeat passes, and Elsa answers, straightening from her crouch. "Yes. Make sure to stand behind me and close to Jan, Anna. The rest of you, ready your arms. At my signal."

Hearing the simultaneous quite unsheathing of swords, Anna unsheathes hers along with theirs and waits. The raiders are almost directly below them. Ten. Nine. Eight.

Elsa moves between two trees, out into the open. Seven. Six. She stretches her arms skyward, as if reaching for the stars, and conjures herself a bow. The bow gleams white against the moonlight as she draws the bowstring tight. Five. Four.

"Get ready, Princess," Jan says.

Anna nods, even if she finds it odd how Jan's men has simply accepted Elsa to be their spearhead when they've suffered and lost friends to the very same woman just a scant four days ago. Anna doesn't have any choice because of her bond, but they do, and their behaviour, their acceptance doesn't make sense – even when they _are_ the finest soldiers under Gervais's banner.

Two.

One.

And Elsa lets loose, her arrow shooting up high into the air. Up; up; up. Higher and higher still until Anna can barely see it – and then she does. Right after the arrow reaches the highest point of its arch, it starts to multiply seemingly out of thin air. Just like that. A dozen. Two dozen. Three. Four. When it rains it pours, they say. It's pouring icy arrows now, and Anna has no doubt these arrows are far sharper, far deadlier than any steel can be.

And it pours. God; how it pours. These men has never stood a chance. Anna hears screams, sees their rank crumple like scattered ants. Those still alive try to flee, leaving the immobile crawling on the ground or otherwise not moving at all, limbs and torsos and heads pierced clean by the arrows. Human pincushions.

What the

What

Anna tries to say something – stares at Elsa in shock. Tries to convey her thoughts, how wrong it is. Aren't they just going to negotiate? Talk just like, like these men are _hers_ and not just bags of flesh to be slaughtered like that. They deserve their last words and Elsa's not giving them any. She tries to open her mouth again but words from barely formed thoughts are stuck in her throat.

Elsa's still standing tall, immobile like her powers. Then she flicks her wrist and once again her beasts rise from a flurry of snow, each as tall as five men standing foot to shoulder. Unlike her fierce but beautiful animals or the strangely humanoid golems Anna's seen before, these are… different. Clearly beasts, but also with the uncanny features of a human: long, gangly arms, stocky hind legs, long crocodilian snouts. Claws as long as their teeth. They let out a strange, forlorn cry and immediately charges in unison, splitting into several directions in pursue of the fleeing humans. A man is caught. Two. Six. Caught and immediately torn limb to limb, as if they're mere paper and the armours nothing but decoration. They tear and tear, even if the man is already dead, even when they no longer resembles the shape of a person. A confetti of flesh.

Anna feels sick to her stomach and Elsa's watching the scene with an expression that borders on boredom.

"How many are left?" Elsa asks, gaze still riveted at the carnage. Never once has she looked at Anna, never once has she bothered to gauge Anna's reaction.

As if Anna is just unworthy of her time.

"Sixteen, m'lady," one of the men answers from behind them.

With a nod, Elsa snaps her fingers and the beasts immediately shatter into small pieces of ice. "Good enough. Now we finish them."

And just like that, Jan's—no; Elsa's men charges forth, following her stride, splitting into two groups with Anna and Jan in the middle: the rock in the middle of a raging stream. His fingers are tight around her elbow and she slaps it away.

"You can go back to the camp, Princess. I'll go with you. You don't need to see this," he says, his face twisting into what Anna feels is just a mockery of worry.

And he _is _mocking her. How dare he suggest that she is too weak to stomach this? That she has absolutely no power over Elsa at all. She just wants to talk and goddamned Elsa – goddamned _Elsa—_

"I'll stop her," she says, speech finally returning to her. Her brain still reels. She knows how. She just needs to. To. "I'll stop her."

"You can't," he says. Pitiful. "Let's go back. I'll—"

But Anna's already running downhill, sword held at an angle, its point nearly touching the ground. She's running downhill but why? Who is she supposed to strike down? Because her mind screams that Elsa's the enemy, not these poor warriors with their hollow cheekbones and mismatched armour full of patches. She doesn't know what to think, so she simply lets her instinct to take over, running and running until she almost barrels into one of them.

He's surprised but quickly recovers, sending a one-handed blow with his mace. She lets it hit her sword, the shock travelling down from steel to her wrist, aggravating the old bruise she's sustained from Elsa's blows. A flash of Elsa's movements during one of their spars comes unbidden, and she knows what do. Drawing from that memory, she twirls her sword and runs the edge down the shaft of the mace, down down until the edge of her sword nearly reaches her sword and—and he stops dead and gurgles: a strange, blubbering sound. The point of a spike of ice is protruding from his throat, right beneath his Adam's apple.

So sharp is the spike and so clean the wound, there's blood dripping down his chin to his neck and nothing else. He falls and her mind goes blank. Jan is already half a field away, engaged with a man more than a head taller than he is. He's losing, arm span not quite matching the man's. It's not important. He's not important.

So she looks at the only thing her mind can focus on right now. Elsa. Elsa Elsa _Elsa._

And Anna thinks: there must be a part of Elsa that's broken.

Because broken is the only word that can be used to describe what Anna's seeing right now. Not the hopeless, one-sided fight or the limbs and heads scattered or the dark patches on the ground, but _Elsa. _Her every movement, every step she takes, every precise cut of her blade made of ice against flesh.

Thunk! the pommel of Elsa's blade goes as it hits the rusty breastplate of the man who has been kneeling until then, surrendering and begging to be spared. His torso hits the ground, his face pressed flat against dirt. Thunk, Elsa's pommel goes, and then there's no sound at all; because what onomatopoeia is there to describe the complete lack of sound a blade makes when it goes through a man's neck? Or the sound it makes as it slices through the flesh and bone and tendons of a thigh?

Nothing.

One second ago the man was on his knees in surrender, and now he's dead, throat impaled, leg cut off mid-thigh. With the casualness of stepping on a small bug, Elsa shakes the blood off her blade and kicks the leg to the side, as if it's just a piece of debris impeding her path during a stroll in the woods.

And Elsa strolls. She _strolls_: calm, slow, languid. Strolls so casually over to her next target that Anna thinks that there's something broken inside her, like all the years with the collar has stretched her mind taut and snapped it. That's the only explanation Anna has. Only someone who's not quite there can look as if she's thinking of dinner or attending a play while murdering – no, butchering fellow human beings.

Elsa strolls, one foot after another, reaching Jan and the warrior he's engaged with. Elsa stops behind the warrior, giving Jan ample time to back-step away as soon as he's spotted her.

"_Run!_" Anna shouts with all she's worth – not to Elsa nor Jan, but to the warrior.

He doesn't hear. Or maybe he does, then disregards it as mere background noise, but she can't let this man become just another victim of Elsa's senseless killing. If Anna can just save one then—she has no time to think. The man's going forward after Jan, strafing in a semi-circle and Elsa's still behind him, eyeing him almost lazily with that look. That look. She's tapping her blade against her palm and Anna launches herself forward, breaking into a sprint. At once her ankle starts to burn and throb again, but she grits her teeth and ignores it, focused only on her target. She needs to stop Elsa. Do something. Stop her.

_Fix her_.

Just one thought— _no._

But she's too far. She's half a battlefield away and there's no doubt Elsa knows what she's doing: the uncanny awareness borne out of their bond. She knows Elsa knows because they're locking eyes, and for once a troubled expression crosses Elsa's face and the tapping of her blade halts, as if she's not quite sure if she should proceed or not.

Anna's bought herself time. Enough to—

Nothing.

She's too late.

With a simple flick of Elsa's arm, the warrior crumples to the ground. Both halves of him. Anna sees the dull, wet glint of blood and spilled entrails and at once it reminds her of the rabbit Elsa's gutted. How strong is Elsa? How sharp is her blade? Inane questions fills Anna's mind, even as she's stopped right on her tracks, right hand supporting herself up on the knee, left hand clasped over her mouth. The hand with the bracelet that signifies her lifetime bond with a monster.

"I'm sorry, Princess. We didn't want you to see this."

She looks up. Jan is standing there, with flecks of gore spattered across his neck and chest, giving her a look of pity so strong Anna finally understands. Elsa might be broken, but it's Anna's fault this has happened at all. Her and her goddamned ignorance.

She grabs his hand by the wrist and yanks it away. "You _bastard_. You've planned this all along."

"We did," he says, even as the hurt from her reaction is as clear as day. "Father, Elsa and I thought it would be best if we—"

"You bastard." Anna doesn't bother keeping the pretence of civility in her voice. This man deserves none of it. "You kept this from me – _why? _We didn't need to do this. They were helpless, Jan. Did you see their armour? They have _nothing!_ We could've just talked to them. Try to. Could've given them a goddamned chance!"

"Could've, but it would've achieved nothing. They've been a thorn at our side for far too long, Princess. Their raids will just increase after the desperation of winter, and with Elsa's arrival suddenly it just becomes very easy…" He shrugs, looks away. "You'll understand one day. It's for the greater good."

"One day? _One day? _So what – I'm too weak and naïve and foolish now to even warrant a word in this plan of yours? Curse you, Jan," Anna says, teeth bared. God; even now they're just thinking of her as a useless ornament. Not even worth telling anything to.

It's not ten of Gervais's best soldiers that he's chosen, but ten of his most discreet, loyal subjects. Discreet enough to not question any orders given to them; loyal enough to execute those orders without any sign of moral qualms.

"Believe me when I say you're none of that; the fault lies within us entirely. We've taken advantage of your trust and I'm truly sorry, Princess, but I stand by my words. It's the correct thing to do, and if I had to do it all over again, I will. This is also for your future…" His words halting, he glances to his right, at Elsa. Elsa gives him a small nod and suddenly his arm is around Anna's shoulder, forcing her to turn, walk away. "Come. We've won – they should know what they're up against now. She's going to finish up and it's really… well, it's really best if you don't hang about."

"What the _hell_—"

"_Please_, Princess. We really have to go."

He exerts more force, and she has no choice but to follow him. But not before glancing over her shoulder, just as the first spikes of ice have risen to the ground and piece through a man's body, suspending him skyward. Another barrage of spikes, another body. That body twitches then doesn't. It was alive. He was still alive.

And for a moment that stretches and stretches, Anna feels like she's suspended in time, frozen with the simple knowledge that she _can _stop Elsa. Just a single thought laced with the intent to hurt and Elsa will fall and crumble, like castle upon sand. Just one. Single. Thought.

But she can't. She _can't._ Because she's given her word, and no matter how strong or natural that urge is, there's also an undercurrent that's more powerful than anything else. It goes against any logical thought, but she feels compelled to protect Elsa. Fix her. _Needs _to have Elsa beside her. It doesn't make sense.

The moment stretches, breaks and she turns away, forcing the roll of nausea back down into her stomach.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

They ride back to the castle in silence, Elsa and her. Jan has elected to stay in his father's estate. It doesn't take them long to arrive, and once they've stabled their horses, Anna immediately storms straight to the library.

Opening the door, Anna turns to Elsa. "I don't care if you need to camp outside the door tonight. Leave me alone." And steps inside, slamming the door shut.

The sound echoes around her and she might have knocked a few books off the shelves, but she doesn't care. Tearing her gloves off her hand, she flings them to the ground and strides to the shelf at the corner of the room. She knows this one by heart, and there's no hesitation in her movements as she quickly skims over the titles and picks the most relevant ones, piling half a dozen in her arms and she goes back to the armchairs near the fireplace and tosses them onto the carpet. Then she repeats the motions until all the books that contain any mention of Elsa are scattered at the base of the chair.

She then sits herself on one of the chairs and starts skimming, ignoring the ringing in her ears that signifies Elsa has strayed beyond the safe boundary. Let her.

The fireplace burns bright and Anna reads. And reads.

Morgana.

Monster.

White haired witch.

Pale woman.

Snow-kissed goddess.

Mistress.

Elise.

Elizabeth.

Weapon.

Slave.

All these names, all these monikers and never once has the name Elsa been mentioned. All the accounts seem to call Elsa something different, and it's frustrating to connect the lines together. She's never quite sure if they're simply retellings or parables or honest accounts, but she knows enough that most, if not all of them speak of the same person. All about her powers and her feats and the crushing defeat of her enemies but nothing of her as a woman. Stories she's read a thousand times before that tell absolutely nothing.

Frustrated, she hurls the book against the door, its spine hitting wood with a loud, dull thud that just seem to flame her anger further. Exhaling heavily through her nose, she slumps forward and brings a hand to massage her temples. Her head is pounding, but it's from a simple headache. Exhaustion, exertion or just simple emotional high. The ringing's stopped, though, and well, she knows what comes next.

The handle to the door turns, and Elsa slides in, having changed from her gore stained clothes to her own dress made of ice. Anna hates that dress. She has found it beautiful with its cut and its patterns of snowflakes but now she hates it. It makes Elsa look too much like a Queen, and Anna like nothing but a mere servant, dancing to her Queen's every tune.

"I used to wear gloves," Elsa says casually, bending down to pick Anna's discarded gloves. She dusts it and arranges them neatly on the small table besides Anna's armchair. "I was led to believe it would keep my powers at bay. They were wrong, of course."

"And you're telling me this why?"

Elsa gestures at the messy array of books scattered on the floor. "Because it seems you're quite eager to know more about me. Did you learn anything useful?"

"You had quite a few lovers in your time."

"Are you jealous, perhaps?"

Anna scoffs. "Yes, quite jealous because I'm _clearly_ in love with a woman I've only known for less than a week. No, Elsa. I'm irked because I have to resort to words written by long dead scholars to know _anything_ about you."

"You simply need to ask the right questions," Elsa says, taking a seat on the empty armchair. She crosses her legs and steeples her hands above her stomach.

Her placidity is infuriating, and Anna has to look away and take several deep breaths before she can trust herself to continue. "The right questions? Okay. Let's start. Where were you from? How old are you? What's your real name? What were you before you _this? _Who do I keep reminding you of?"

"Those are not the right questions," Elsa says, and once again the anger surges strong within Anna.

"Then what _is? _God Elsa, sometimes it feels like I'm talking to a brick wall with you."

"Ask me about my favourite colour. What I do at night when my thoughts threaten to overwhelm me. Ask about my pastime; ask me about fractals and geometry. Ask me about the meanings behind each gesture of a lady's fan. Those, I can tell you."

"All the unimportant questions that answer nothing."

"But they are the right ones."

"It's useless talking to you."

"I'm sorry."

Elsa and her goddamned apologies. How many of them are sincere? None, Anna answers herself. None. But she'll give her one more chance. Just one more chance.

"Answer me this, then: why did you go behind my back? What _right_ do you have to undermine my authority, slaughter those men? Do you feel any remorse at all? _Tell me." _

Tilting her head to the side, Elsa's gaze is unwavering, watching Anna with those cold, calculating eyes of hers. Like she's always done, but Anna was just too blind to see. Not anymore.

"You know why," Elsa says.

"I want to hear it from your mouth."

"Because we have determined it a necessity. It's why I had my familiars tear them apart, why I've left their bodies suspended on ice to be found by their allies. Because we can't afford kindness, not when fear is so easily wrought. Man, ice, beast, I utilised them all to keep the fear alive. For the greater good."

Again with that. She's just parroting Jan. For the greater good. For _their_ greater good. Certainly not Anna's.

"That doesn't make it right—"

"It doesn't. But tell me, if we were to negotiate with them, how long will it take? Offers, counter offers. Arguments. Insubordination. You can no longer afford it. Has kindness not been the downfall of your kingdom? You have to choose one, Anna, and sometimes the choice is already made for you."

All throughout Elsa's speech, Anna has clenched her fist tight, nails digging deep into her palm until it nearly breaks skin. She loosens her fists just enough to not do any more damage, but not enough for the pain to dissipate. It keeps her anger in check. Keeps her from raising her voice, from entertaining the thought that has passed her mind as she watched Elsa arrange the bodies into display.

"You think of hurting me," Elsa says. Casually. Without surprise. "Why didn't you? It's easy to stop me, but you didn't."

"Because—" because she can't, and she's unable to form anything tangible enough to explain why "—because I've given you my word, and unlike _you_, I keep them."

"Sometimes it's necessary to break words."

"Not for me."

"Even if it has cost you dozens of the lives of others?"

"You!" But it hits deep and she stops her words right in their tracks. There's no answer to that. Anna averts her gaze, no longer able to match those eyes with her own. Elsa's right. She's let Elsa run rampant all because she's bound by a single promise and the vague compulsion of protecting someone who doesn't need any. Their blood are on her hands, and there's nothing to say. She feels her shoulders sag.

"And you didn't say anything when I have killed all those soldiers from the Southern Isles as you looked on," Elsa continues. Landing blow after blow after blow. "Did it not bother you because they were your enemy? You can be quite self-righteous, Anna."

Hypocritical. Self-righteous. Naïve. Foolish. She's had enough.

"I have enough of this conversation. I want you to leave my sight – and do not come back until I wish you to do so."

It's a royal decree and Elsa responds with obeisance, not a single argument raised. "As you wish, Your Highness." She bows deep, then rises and exits the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Anna stares at the fire for a long while, then bends down and picks a book at random, starting where she's left off. If only to keep the darkness of her thoughts at bay.


	5. the woman, not the stories

**5.**

Anna's tried everything she can think of to remove the bracelet. Her attempts have ranged from submerging her hand in near boiling water, to prying it off with a thin piece of metal between the bracelet and her skin, to soaping it to death, to tracking down a random passing maid to play tug-o-war with her hand. The maid fled, and that was that. Even went to Janus, the trusted royal blacksmith. He merely took a glance at it, grunted, then went off and returned the largest pair of scissors Anna has ever seen in her nineteen years of life. And well, it was her turn to flee then.

Emotionally drained, she rests her forehead flat against the dining table, feeling the coolness of the wood. Outside the window a pair of birds chirp merrily, path of flight intertwining with each other. She angles her head towards the window, wanting to glare at them, thinking of how unfair it is that they're so carefree with their acrobatics in the air while she's utterly grounded on earth. Stuck with a bond that seems more like a mistake with each passing moment. She wants to glare, but doesn't have the energy, and so she stares blankly outside, noting the movement of the clouds and the slight sway of leaves ruffled by the wind.

"It's a beautiful day."

Lifting her head, Anna straightens and looks towards the direction of the sound, sees her mother with her usual smile of self-amusement, holding a stack of documents in her arms. Anna resumes staring at the window again, this time with her cheek resting on her palm.

"Still sulking, I see," Cecile says, pulling out the chair at the other end of the table and primly smoothening her skirt before seating herself, setting the documents gently on the table, not a paper out of order. "I swear you and your father are becoming more and more similar to each other as you grow older. And we've hoped so much that you will inherit my temperament…" She sighs; dramatic. "Alas."

"I have your hair," Anna says, giving the very thick pile of documents a sideway glance.

"And my youthful penchant to fall headfirst into trouble, it seems."

"Not by my own will."

There's rustling as Cecile shifts through the papers, picks on seemingly at random and peers at it. Then discards it and picks another one. "I said the same thing, and they laughed me out of the court. Really taught my young self a sense of humility that day."

Anna looks at Cecile looking at her paper. "Um. What did you do? Do I even want to know?"

"Chased a charming stableboy with a stick for hurting a well-known Viscount's wife. I thought they were wrestling. They weren't. The stableboy's head rolled, the Viscount's wife committed suicide from shame, and the Viscount himself decided it was my father's fault and launched a rebellion which lasted five years and five days. It was quite an event, really."

"What." And sometimes a simple question can turn into the biggest regret of her day. Anna reminds herself to never ask Cecile innocuous questions ever again. That somehow _never_ turn out quite right. "Wrestling… aside… uhm… what happened to you after?"

"Nothing, because I was the Princess and dearly beloved by all," Cecile says, gaze still trained at the paper she's reading. She lets out a small chuckle – no doubt as another one of those ridiculous petitions by a nobleman with more money than sense – and sets it aside. Then folds her hands together, fingers intertwining and looks straight at Anna. "Take it as a parable if you wish. I think you have an inclination of what I'm trying to suggest, yes?"

"I don't," Anna says, finding herself unconsciously tugging at the bracelet on her wrist. Forcing herself to stop, she resorts to resting her palms flat with her fingers splayed, each hand firmly on the other side the invisible line that runs between them. Still, she starts to tap the nail of her index finger against the table, tap tap tap. Tap. Her left hand.

It stops only when Cecile reaches forward and clasps her hand over Anna's wrist, right above the bracelet. "You're agitated. I don't need to ask why, do I?"

"No; I…" Anna starts to think of rebuttals, trying to piece together white lies that say she's all right and it's nothing really so don't worry, mama. She wants to say that what has happened between her and Elsa that night is strictly private, but how can she, when it ties to the kingdom and when there's nothing Cecile won't already know just by simply seeing the expression on Anna's face alone? People tell Anna she wears her heart on her sleeve. They're not wrong. She sighs. "Elsa and I had a fight. We haven't spoken to each other since." Actively avoids each other. Well, Anna does: staying flush within her boundary of six hundred steps, orbiting around Elsa like earth to the sun. It gets tiring.

"Because of what happened in Alexander's estate?" Cecile asks gently, squeezing Anna's wrist tight. Her touch is comforting.

"…yes."

"And you think she is in the wrong?"

"Her, Lord Gervais and Jan. I know they are." She remembers the man's twitching body on the spikes and once again she has to force the guilt and sickness from spilling forth. "They went behind my back. Killed all those people. _Our _people, mama. How can I _not _be angry? How can you not?"

"The parable, Anna," says Cecile simply.

God; Elsa and Cecile. Why are the women in Anna's life so fond of talking in circles? It's frustrating and it does nothing but rouse the flames anger she has tried so hard to smother these past few days. Still, Cecile _always_ has a point, and Anna knows from previous experience to always listen to her, no matter how pointless it may seem then. (And maybe Elsa does too, but she pushes that thought down as soon as it bubbles up – because Elsa doesn't.)

Trying her best to not show her annoyance, Anna takes several deep breaths and says, "don't mistake extramarital affairs as wrestling and start chasing people with sticks?"

"Well, that's one. Try again, perhaps?"

Anna frowns. "Don't mix Viscount's wives with stableboys because it'll start a rebellion?"

"I think that stableboy is eyeing you, Anna. What's his name? Henry?"

"Who?"

"Another try."

Rolling her eyes, Anna throws her free hand into the air. "Don't cheat on your husband and _then _kill yourself. Or if you do, do it discreetly? The affair, I mean. Not the suicide. Actually look; I don't know. I give up."

"Don't cheat on your husband at all, rather. But no, that's not what I'm quite angling at."

Circles, circles and more circles. As if she's walking into a labyrinth with no exit. "Then what _exactly_ are you trying to tell me, mama?"

"Oh, I do like that tone. You'll do well to practice it for when you ascend to the throne, Anna. Very queenly," Cecile says, laughing airily. "The point is, love, is that being royalty affords you more leeway than others. I wasn't punished because it was within my right to be privy of my subjects' lives and interfere, should I choose."

"That just—that just sounds like voyeurism."

"For a single Princess to stumble upon a scene like that? Yes; it could be categorised as voyeurism – but if the same were to be done by a King with his vast network of spies? It's called internal affairs. Definition is fluid, Anna. If Elsa were to have done that by her lonesomeness she would have been branded a criminal and executed before dawn. However, she didn't. She did it under Alexander's banner, and by virtue, under yours. And that is as much of a crime as carrying out a royal edict is. Do you understand? There is no black and white, just context."

"No," Anna says. She starts to withdraw her hand but Cecile's grasp remains firm. "There might not be white and black, but there _is _right and wrong. And what she did is wrong and there's no denying that. What does context matter when repercussions call for more than three dozen senselessly killed? You can twist words all you want – and I know you're good at that, mama, but it won't change my mind."

Cecile smiles, but there's no amusement behind it. Just muted sadness from the downturned angle of her brows. "You are so much your father's daughter."

"And is that such a bad thing?" Anna asks, a hint of defiance creeping in. Because her father is kind and just, and there is nothing wrong with both of those qualities. Even when his kingdom is spiralling downwards and he's called soft and cowardly behind his back—

_Ah._

Her expression must have changed then, because Cecile then says, "Loathe as you might, I think you start to understand. You are your father's daughter and nothing can change that. But remember that you're mine, too, and I would appreciate it if you don't reject your other qualities out of hand. Elsa is your leeway just as your title as a Princess is. You'd do well to utilise them. Only you can."

"But—"

Cecile holds her free hand, cutting Anna's words short. She then lifts the hand that's on Anna's wrist and starts flipping through the documents, settling on a piece right at the end. Small and plain. She then slides it out, placing it between them. "Read it."

Taking the letter, Anna obliges. _Bodies collected. Time, _it reads. Short and vague, it makes perfect sense. She looks up from the message. "What do you want me to do?"

"Leeway, Anna. Sleep on it, but you _must_ decide on an action and resolve this. Elias doesn't yet know, but you have my permission to act freely. I can promise that there will be no interference from Alexander nor myself this time. Take whatever resources you need, but you'll need to act fast. While it's still fresh."

While the bodies are still fresh, and the fear fresher still.

"Mama—"

But Cecile is no longer paying attention to her, having started on her documents again. "Sleep on it. For now, I have a great view and many more documents to admire. Take your leave. I trust you."

Trust. A heavy word for a mere Princess like her. Anna wonders if this is what Elsa has felt, to be summarily dismissed with no chance to explain her thoughts.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

Following Cecile's advice, Anna decides to sleep on it. Or tries to. She's been lying on her bed for what seems to be hours, tossing and turning, burning the gilded patterns of the ceiling into her mind, counting the individual threads on her blanket, counting imaginary sheep. But most of all she thinks of those tribes in the mountains and the forty-six men they've lost. She can backtrack and issue an apology, but that's the same as saying, hey, I'm sorry I drowned your puppy in a stream, it was yapping and I didn't know what to do, apology accepted? Only worse, so much worse, and there's no analogy that can aptly describe what Elsa has done to them. Even the cruellest of armies do not desecrate the remains of their enemies so.

She wonders how the men picking up the remains of their fallen have felt – collecting pieces of flesh scattered on the ground, hoisting their friends off icy spikes towering high into the sky, utterly cruel and utterly inhumane. She wonders if they used wagons even if they will fall apart in the rocky terrain, or if they've simply fit everything into sacks and hoisted them on their shoulders. But why does it matter what mode of transportation they used? What matters is that there are lives and bodies to reassemble. What matters is not having anger override fear. What matters is not letting it come to that, if she's as much of his father's daughter as Cecile says.

She needs to talk to Elsa.

Tossing the blanket aside, she props herself up by the elbows and slides off the bed. She then takes a discarded cloak off the floor, fastens it around her shoulders and exits her room, heading straight to Elsa's newly appointed room, right next to her own. She knocks thrice and waits. Then knocks harder. And harder.

"Elsa?"

No answer. Okay. Elsa is either ignoring her, is really asleep or just elsewhere. If it's the first two there's no use breaking her knuckles over the door, so she decides to try the library next. It makes sense, because she knows from interrogating the maid that Elsa has spent a ridiculous amount of time holed in the library, even when logically speaking no one should be in any library when it's a scant few hours before the break a dawn. She tries anyway, because she doesn't know Elsa well enough to hazard another guess, and there's so many places one can go to when there's a six hundred step boundary.

Elsa isn't in the library. Sighing, Anna slides the door back shut and pads towards the kitchen, which is thankfully still within her range. Not that she knows exactly what her range is anymore with the tether absent from sight. Even her awareness from the bond isn't helping – the only thing she can sense is that Elsa's somewhere within the castle – something that is much too vague to bank on. It's not like they have telepathy, thank god for that. And thank god the kitchen is on ground level, because that makes everything easier.

Glancing around to make sure it's rightfully empty of humans and rodents alike, she swipes a few cinnamon rolls from the huge prep counter at the centre of the kitchen and wraps it a cloth she finds in one of the cupboards. Trying the ends of the cloth to form a makeshift handle, she slings the bundle of rolls over her shoulder and heads to the window.

Once there, she grabs the window pane using both hands and hefts up, creaking it open inch by inch by inch until her arms give up. Whoever is tasked with oiling these things clearly needs a good wage cut, and why is it even made of iron? What happened to wood? _Really? _Anyway, that's not important. Folding her arms, she stands back and observes the opening. A tight squeeze. It'll be an awkward scuttle through, but it'll do. It's not like there's anyone to witness the utter lack of grace she's about to conduct herself with. So she pokes her head outside, squeezes her shoulders past the narrow width and pushes herself forward using her – oh damn it. She's forgotten to wear shoes. Well, whatever. She pushes forward with her bare feet against the cold stone floor and pops outward, catching herself short of doing a cartwheel by ramming her palms onto the grass.

And ends up in a cartwheel anyway.

Or half of it, landing smack flat on her back. Very unlike a Princess, but well, no one's seeing. It's not like sneaking out at night is very princessy in the first place, and she supposes she can wait until morning to speak with Elsa, but she's the type who can't stand having something niggling in her mind. She's the type who needs to resolve things right _now_, and even a few more hours of waiting will drive her insane. She doesn't even know what the end goal of the talk will be but she can't help it. She really can't.

Still on her back, She takes a few moments to appreciate the stars. She then rises, dusts herself and starts her walk. A straight line. It's the only way she knows of finding Elsa short of rousing the servants and doing a six hundred step wide search. Not a huge distance, but they do have a lot of redundant rooms. Empty room with two chairs and a painting number eleven being a prime example. Plus she has a feeling that when Elsa doesn't want to be found, she won't be found. So a straight line it is; a foot after another.

All flat ground with sparse trees, it doesn't take long at all for her ears to ring. Knowing full well what comes next, she contemplates on stopping, but shakes her head and resumes her march. It's not enough. Simply not urgent enough. So she soldiers on, and soon the pounding in her head starts. It comes mildly enough at first, the kind of dull pain one usually experiences after a moderate amount of wine before bed. That goes on for a dozen or so steps, then the intensity increases, each throb more and more frequent. It's no longer wine, but a hammer pounding on her skull with each step. She feels like hitting her head against a tree, because that seems infinitely better than this.

Another step. Another. God it _hurts_. She clutches her head with both hands and kneels, breathing heavily. The ground's spinning and she feels like throwing up and the incessant pounding – the pounding she shouldn't have done this what was she thinking _god._ Lack of coherent thought. She's reached the limit and there's nothing she can do but wipe the tears, tear the makeshift bag off her shoulder and draw her knees in, burying her face between her arms.

Immobile, she waits. And waits. Each second and each wave of pain feel like an eternity and a half. But still, she waits. Because she knows Elsa will come. She will.

And she does. There's the sound of horse's rapid gallop in the distance, from the direction of the castle. Lifting her head from the comfort of her arms, she sees a white steed running straight at her. Ice. She doesn't need to look at the rider to know who the beast belongs to.

"_Anna!_" Elsa's voice is hoarse, and even in her state as it is, Anna can sense the panic and urgency from that single word alone.

The horse stops a dozen paces short of her position in that sudden lack of motion that Elsa's beasts always do, and Elsa dismounts and almost falls, stumbling over her own feet. She places a hand on the statue, steadying herself, then immediately goes over to Anna, pace unsteady. There's nothing graceful about her motions, but it only makes her seem more human.

Her face is twisted into concern and something else, and wordlessly she kneels besides Anna and pulls her into an embrace, arms securely wrapped around Anna's shoulders. Normally Anna will find this surprising, perhaps jump back but her brain's still scrambled and the comfort of human touch is sorely needed. Wrapping her arms around Elsa, she draws her in tighter and rests her forehead on the crook of Elsa's neck. The harshness of her breathing starts to subside along with the poundings on her head, and soon everything's quiet again but for the sound of crickets in spring.

She feels a tickle and realises that Elsa is stroking her hair. Long, gentle strokes. Cecile used to do that to Anna, still does – but it's different. It's different and familiar, just like Elsa's scent. She smells warm and fresh and nice, and it's so familiar it's almost nostalgic. Like she's trying to reach for memories so faint and translucent only to have them dance away as soon as they touch the tips of her fingers. It's baffling. Lifting her head, she loosens her arms and is about to ask if they've really not met before when Elsa withdraws, probably misconstruing her actions as a signal that the embrace should end.

And Anna realises too, that she shouldn't be hugging a woman she's deemed as a monster only a scant few nights ago. Shouldn't have found the hug so pleasant. She shouldn't – but she does. And does that not denote that Elsa cares? But she always does, doesn't she? Cares enough to check Anna's armour thoroughly before the battle, to ask her to stay behind so that she doesn't see Elsa's cruelty. Cares enough to immediately rush to Anna's side as soon as she feels the—the pain. But doesn't that also imply that Elsa is only looking for her contractor and by extension her own wellbeing? It's confusing, these jumbled thoughts. And Anna does what she can only think of: ask. Even when the chance of getting an answer is slim, she needs to. It buries deep in her mind like a tick, and she needs to dig it out.

"Why do you care so much?" Anna sees Elsa's surprise at the sudden question, and decides to rephrase her words. "Or rather, do you care about me at all or are you just looking out for yourself?"

God. That just makes her sound like a petulant, self-important child who was practically shouting care for me! _Care for me! I demand you to!_ It's the wrong phrasing with the wrong connotation, but that's the best she can do at such a short notice when there's still a residue of pain underneath her newfound lucidity.

Elsa seems to take it the right way, however, because scarcely a beat passes before she looks straight at Anna and says, "I would sooner give my life than let any harm come to you, Anna. That is the absolute truth."

Elsa's hair catches the gleam of moonlight as she shifts to wipe a trail of mud off her cheek, and Anna thinks of how imperfect she looks right then. She's a far cry from the woman at the beach with the perfect dress and the perfectly coiffed hair and perfect elegance. Right now Elsa is anything but, with her hair frazzled from the wind and the flecks of mud spattering her khaki breeches. Even her boots aren't properly buckled, and she's skipped a button on her blouse. She's still trying to wipe the mud off, but only manages to smear it further. It makes her look utterly _human_, and Anna wants to swallow her accusations down, but she can't. They're having a talk, aren't they? And talk they will. Because no matter how mundane Elsa looks then, it still won't erase the things she's done.

"Why do you care so much?" Anna asks again. "It's unnatural to care so much for a person you've just met, even when we're bound together like this. It doesn't make sense."

"…is that the reason you behaved so foolishly? To ask me this?" Elsa says. Having given up with the mud, she drops her hands down on top of her ankle, with her sitting cross legged just as Anna is. "Your sulking is turning into self-harm and I won't have any of that. Do you understand me?"

"There's no self-harm intended. I just needed to talk to you."

"While barefooted?" Elsa asks with an expression of disbelief.

Anna looks down, sees the mud and blades of grass caking her feet. It _does_ make her look kind of unstable, doesn't it? "I'm not crazy."

"I'm not insinuating you are, Anna. But no one in their right mind would go and—do what you did. Does it…" Once again Elsa lifts her hand and it lingers in the empty space between them, just like the time with the rabbit and the fire and the knowledge that she has suffered more cruelty in the hands of her contractors than Anna can ever imagine. Clenching her hand tight, she withdraws it and folds it over her stomach, as if she's trying to protect herself from something. As if touching Anna will burn her. She shakes her head. "No, of course it does."

The pain. "I know it hurts you too, Els. I'm sorry."

"You could have knocked."

"I did. Thrice; as hard as I could. There was no answer and naturally I just guessed you were probably ignoring me or somewhere else entirely."

"And this is the only way you could think of to get my attention?"

When worded that way, it really doesn't sound like a particularly smart idea. "Yes?"

With a sigh, Elsa says, "I was not ignoring you. I simply followed your order by staying out of your sight, but I would never shut you out if you came to me."

That. It was something Anna's said in a moment of anger. And well, she's paid the price for it, hasn't she?

"I was just… angry," Anna says, ripping off a blade of grass and flicking it off. It flutters lazily to the ground. "I had a talk with mama this morning. Like you, she likes to talk in circles, but uhm." She pauses, gathering her thoughts. Elsa doesn't interrupt, simply watching her intently with her head tilted. "She said something that basically boils down to the end justifying the means."

"And you don't agree." A statement.

"I don't. What you did was still terrible, Elsa. And no amount of justification can change that."

"I'm sorry—"

"Please. Don't say that unless you mean it."

Because apologies without any heart behind them are useless. Actions speak louder than words, they might say, but for Anna words too carry their weight in gold.

"You misunderstand," Elsa says. "I'm not apologising for my action, but for the hurt it causes you."

"…oh." It makes sense now, because why would someone so morally ambiguous as Elsa apologise so much? It's _Anna's _feelings she's apologising for. "I don't know what to feel about that." She really doesn't. She _could_ summon the memories again, relive them to fan the embers of her anger. But anger is emotionally draining and ultimately useless. She might end up sending Elsa away again, but what will that accomplish? Right now they need to have a proper talk like adults, align their moral compasses. Even when she doesn't know what to say.

So instead she pinches the fabric of her cloak between her fingers and leans forward to wipe the streak of mud off Elsa's cheek. Elsa's eyes widen, but she mutters a soft thank you and accepts Anna's ministrations without another word. It takes several swipes, but finally Elsa's skin is pristine again. Satisfied with her work, Anna lets go of her cloak and folds her arms. "There. Now I no longer feel ridiculous talking to a woman who looked like a five year old after roughhousing outside with her brothers."

"You're an odd woman, Anna," Elsa says. "One moment you're angry enough to banish me, and another you're treating me so tenderly. I don't understand. Do you not hate me still?"

Anna shrugs. "Don't know. I don't think you're a bad person. Clearly you believe that what you're doing is for my greater good and I get that. I really do. You, Lord Gervais and Jan. You're all looking for me and I really appreciate it."

"But?"

"Well, I've… thought a lot about it. Tossed and turned about it in my bed, to be precise. These past few days were killing me, to be honest—do you want a cinnamon roll?"

"What."

Ignoring Elsa's baffled look, Anna reaches to the side, taking the bag with the rolls and unties it. "A cinnamon roll. I need to gather my thought, otherwise I tend to ramble and papa told me that just won't fly in court so I usually like to eat while… oh hey I'm rambling." She holds out a roll. "Also I brought this because you're also like a five year old in your absolute refusal to regulate your own meal times. When was the last time you ate?"

"Last night," Elsa says in a voice that suggests she's lying. She still hasn't made a move to take the roll.

Anna wiggles it "Uh-huh. Sure. Take it."

Very reluctantly, Elsa does, and they eat in silence with only the stars and their own thoughts as their companion. Anna takes the chance to rearrange her words, what she's trying to get at. There's always a point to each talk, and she thinks she has an idea of what she's trying to achieve. No self-righteousness — even though the hurt from accusation still runs deep — no blaming. Just a compromise.

"She used to do this," Elsa says, breaking her chain of thought. "Drag me out to camp in the middle of nowhere, force food down my throat whenever I'm too absorbed in my duties."

"She?"

They're making eye contact, but Elsa's eyes has a sheen to it that suggests she may be talking to herself as much as she's talking to Anna.

"The person you remind me of," Elsa says. Mindlessly, she's tearing her roll apart, scattering them for the early bird. "I too, have given this much thought. If we were to work, I will have to give you answers. Not all, but just enough insight into myself as a human being, because I know there are times that you have considered me as anything but."

Anna looks away, feeling the guilt creeping into her gut. Monster. That's what she's called Elsa. "I didn't mean to. I just had – am having difficulty thinking of your actions as something _anyone _would do. It's so—"

"Inhuman?" Elsa suggests.

"…yes."

"Look at me, Anna." Anna does. "Please understand that I've lived for far too long to still remember the gravity of taking another's life. I knew it would affect you somewhat, but I had no idea how deeply. Sometimes… sometimes I forget. That was why I tried to avoid looking at you during the fight, because your expression spoke volumes, and it's a distraction I didn't need in a situation so crucial."

The roll feels cold and rubbery in Anna's hands. She can't imagine living long enough to be able to compare killing with the mundane tasks of everyday nature.

"But you're not sorry for that."

"Only for the effect it has on you."

"…I see." Anna wants to say something again, demand for more clarification, but did they not beat the dead horse enough? She already knows Elsa's sorry, even for the wrong reasons, but Anna also knew it wasn't something she could change overnight. She'll fix it, fix Elsa, but they're baby steps: taken slowly and methodically. Now, Anna decides she wants to know about this woman who's never left Elsa's mind. "Was she the kind of person who would have condoned what you did?"

"No; she would have banished me out of the castle, stolen all my chocolate and never speak to me again," Elsa says. Her smile small from fond remembrance, and Anna wonders exactly what kind of woman Elsa's love was, long gone but still able to make Elsa smile like that. "I suppose it was a different time we lived in – wars and the moral dilemmas that come with them were never a big part of our lives."

"How long ago was this?"

"From when I was free of this," Elsa says. Her hand brushes her collar, then she resumes tearing what's left of the roll into nothing.

From an era Anna doesn't know, then. "So not a contractor."

"No."

Anna takes a bite and chews slowly. Then swallows and discards the left over for animals to eat. She no longer has any appetite. "Were you in love with her?"

"Yes," Elsa says without missing a beat. With so much conviction she can see it in her eyes.

"…were you together?"

"No." And the relief Anna feels after that single word is so immediate and so real she wonders what's wrong with her. It's an unrequited love and that's nothing to cheer about. She feels like a terrible person. "Tell me, Anna, were you ever enamoured by the thought of a Prince sweeping you off your feet? The kind of love that only exists in fairytales and the lives of those truly fortunate."

Rubbing her jaw, Anna gives it a thought. Has she ever? Of course she has. Like any other children, she's grown up with beloved fairytales with Princes and Princesses and one true love. "I think we all did, once," she says as she shifts positions, once again drawing her knees in. "I used to dream about a Prince sweeping me onto his white horse, and together we'd ride into the sunset, all the way to his beautiful kingdom. But it didn't take long for me to outgrow it. No King or Queen worth their salt will send their son to woo a Princess from a small kingdom like ours, smack dab in the middle of three volatile kingdoms. They're afraid of Corona turning into a warzone, and well, I guess they're right." She frowns. "Wait; what does this have anything to do with her?"

"She too, dreamt of that." Oh. "She loved me dearly but it was different from the kind of love described in fairytales. She found her Prince with the white horse, even if he wasn't the right one for her. She then found her one true love in a man who was nothing resembling a Prince, and they married and lived happily."

There's an ever after missing from that story, but Anna doesn't dare ask. She's afraid of Elsa shutting down again. It's much like tip-toeing through broken glass with Elsa. So she asks instead: "was she a Princess?"

"Yes."

"And is that why I remind you of her?"

"Among other things," Elsa says. And Anna realises her smile isn't only from fond remembrance. It's also bittersweet and sad, and she doesn't know which emotion weigh more heavily. There's no ever after because there's no happy ending. She wonders where Elsa's place was between the Prince and the man who was anything but.

The words die between them, partly because Anna's afraid of stepping at broken glass, and partly because there's nothing left to say. She stares at her feet and wiggles her toes, listening to the chirps of crickets.

"And I hope that answers the question," Elsa says again, shattering the silence. "About why I care so much."

Anna rests her chin on her knees. "It does. Thank you for volunteering a glimpse of your past, even though I'm not quite happy that you only care because I remind you of the woman you loved. But I suppose beggars can't be choosers."

"And you said you weren't jealous."

Anna stares at Elsa blankly. Then realises from Elsa's smirk that it's one of her not-jokes. Not funny in the slightest, but Anna laughs anyway. She feels the strain lifting from her shoulders. "You are _so _not funny, Els. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Not to my face, no. I think they're afraid I might hurl a barrage of snow at them if they do. I'm _very_ proud of my sense of humour, just so you know."

"And just so you know, your sense of humour is terrible and it's time someone pushes you down your high horse."

"I think I did that on my own accord already," Elsa says, eyeing the giant horse in the field. "Thanks to you."

Anna cringes. "Yeah… about that…"

"Feeling better now?"

"A bit. Though I think I should ask you the same question, too. It hurt you as much as it did me, didn't it?" Elsa nods, and Anna winces internally. It's one thing to be stupid enough to hurt yourself, but hurting others while at it? She should've thought this further. "So sorry, Els. How do you feel now?"

"Just a slight headache. Nothing major," Elsa says. It doesn't escape Anna that her face is still somewhat pallid. "Imagine my surprise when I found myself being rudely awakened by something that feels like a sack of bricks to my head. I very nearly drowned."

Drowned? "Uh, were you swimming or something?" Do her powers also extend to conjuring a pool? Because there are certainly no streams or lakes around to nearly drown in.

For a moment Elsa stays silent, staring fixedly at the spot above Anna's shoulder. Then she says, "it's getting early. I think we should go."

"I don't think so." Having used this diversion tactic herself countless times to wiggle out of particularly difficult conversations, Anna knows exactly what Elsa's trying to do. She's hiding something. "Not until you tell me exactly what you were doing."

"I…"

"Yeees?"

Elsa looks away, and if it weren't Elsa, Anna would've pegged her behaviour as sheepish. "I fell asleep in the bath."

Anna immediately claps her hand over her mouth. "Pfft—"

"Don't you _dare__,_" Elsa says, shooting her a glare that might have been scary if not for the image of her drowning in a _bathtub. _Who falls asleep during _baths_ anyway? Certainly not someone who looks and talks and walks like Elsa, but she did, and it takes everything in Anna's power not to burst out in hysterics.

"Sorry—it's just that I would've never expected—hahaaaa—okay. I'm calm now." She takes a few deep breaths, trying her darndest best to smother any laughter threatening to escape, because Elsa has taken a look that's gone from mildly annoyed to outright murderous. "Right. Definitely calm. So that's why you're dressed like that. Now it makes sense."

Elsa narrows her eyes and raises her brow. "Like what? I'm dressed decently. Someone who prances around barefooted has no right to make a jab at my attire."

Anna ignores the reminder of her lack of footwear. "Yeah… if you call skipping a button – actually, you skipped two – decent."

Elsa has indeed missed two. Apparently she's also forgotten to tuck her blouse in, one side of it hanging much lower than the other. Looking down, Elsa finally notices her state of disarray and frowns. Then she reaches towards the topmost button and… and starts unbuttoning her blouse.

Anna's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, watching with her mouth hanging open as Elsa unbuttons the second one. Then the third. The blouse's opening gets precariously lower and lower and Anna can see that Elsa isn't wearing—oh god of course she's not. She was bathing and probably didn't have time to assemble a complete set of clothes. Probably even jumped off the bloody window in her haste to get to Anna. Four buttons down and Anna launches forward with all her might, grabbing a hold of both of Elsa's hands. That immediately stops Elsa's motions in track. Elsa looks at her, and Anna looks at the horse.

"Indecent exposure, Elsa!" she says at the horse. "_Indecent exposure!_" Throughout all this Anna has forgotten that during their stay at Gervais's cottage, she's learned that Elsa is the type of person to disrobe whenever she pleases, whether Anna is in the room or not. Much like the lack self-preservation and the penchant for murder, it seems like indecent exposure is just another thing added to the list of things to fix about Elsa. Goddamned people of undetermined age nowadays, don't they have a sense of decency? She must also be the type of person to sleep naked, although thankfully that's never happened around Anna. Yet. Hopefully never.

"What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong? _You're not wearing any—I can see—just— _blouse!_"

"I like blouses," says Elsa, as if that's the point of this all. "I would wear my dress, but you dislike it – I could see it from your expression in the library."

"I like your dress, it's just that—wait, that's not the point. _Okay_." Once again Anna takes several deep breaths, getting somewhat desperate. Still looking at the horse, she lets go of Elsa's hand. "I need you to redo your buttons." Elsa does. Only she takes it the wrong way and Anna has to stop her again before she reaches the seventh button. "Up! I mean up!"

For someone with such a horrible sense of humour for the lewd, Elsa can be a blockhead at times. Now wonder she and Jan are already at a first-name basis.

"I still have a button to fix."

"It doesn't matter! Just redo it! Upwards!" Feeling Elsa's hands starting to move again, Anna relinquishes her hold and stares straight up. Beautiful, beautiful stars. "Tell me when you're done."

"…I'm done."

Risking a peek down, Anna sees that Elsa has re-buttoned her blouse to the very top and exhales in relief. "Thank god."

"Did you like what you see?"

"_Anyway!"_ That horrible deadpan humour again. When will it _end? _Even though she can still feel the heat still lingering in her cheeks, it's infinitely better than the tumult before. She decides to drive the talk forward, if only for the relative safety of anything not involving _that._ "Wardrobe malfunctions aside – and we do need to have talk about indecent exposure later, but anyway, that's neither here nor there."

"There was nothing indecent about my lack of exposure."

Ignoring that blatantly false statement, Anna continues, "I needed to talk to you because it's been burrowing in my mind ever since then, and I'm glad I did. You shared a piece of yourself and I think I understand you a bit better. Though I _must _stress that I still don't agree with your methods, but what's done is done, and I feel that I should stop lingering in the past if I want to move forward. So there's some ground rules I'd like to lay before we do anything else. Whether you like it or not, you're going to accept them."

"You've clearly thought much about this," Elsa says, her tone approving. "Tell me those rules."

"One: never go behind my back ever again, do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Two: we try my way first. Always. Unless I'm as foolish as everyone seem to think I am and my decision will cause irreparable damage to this kingdom. Then you're free to mutiny and deal with the problem as you like. Just be prepared to give thorough justification later."

Her mother's right; she has to be firm. She's been given Cecile's trust and she won't disappoint. And the first thing she needs to do is keep Elsa in line. A weapon is only as good as its wielder, after all, and Elsa _is _her weapon. Just like Elsa has no choice but to accept the rules she's listed, she also doesn't have any choice but to wield Elsa as she's promised her father during the trial. Context and repercussions.

"I can make a jab about how you're always foolish but—"

"—but it'll just be in bad taste."

"Correct. I understand and agree to those rules. I will no longer move hastily unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Good," Anna says. "Good."

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

"Not quite. There's still the matter of those tribes we have to deal with. The bodies have been collected, and I think I have a plan, but we'll have to move very soon. We'll see how you fare then."

"Like a master and her dog, you're tightening my leash."

Anna's jaw drops and she sputters. "What! No no no! I absolute _do not_ mean it like that! Oh my god you're totally taking it the wrong way. I said we weren't—you're not—"

"I jest, Anna. Please try not to explain yourself to death," Elsa says with a chuckle. She then rises and extends her hand. "Come now. I'm glad that the doubt in your mind that have led you to breach our boundary has been allayed. I think we should head back to the castle. Dawn is breaking. If you have anything left to say, I think we can continue this conversation during lunch, because I intend to sleep in until then."

"Ah—yeah. That makes sense. Let's do that." Still feeling the heat on her cheeks, Anna takes Elsa's hand and hoists herself up, slightly unsteady with her bare feet against the ground. She reminds herself to clean them properly and take a bath before she sleeps. She then lets go of Elsa's hand and bends to pick up the bundle of cinnamon rolls and reties it over her shoulder. She rubs her eyes, finally feeling the onset of drowsiness.

When she turns, the horse has once again come to life with Elsa already mounted, waiting. Pale and beautiful, both the rider and the steed. They remind her of the Princes in fairytales. Elsa strokes its mane and gives it a pat. She smiles, and with the dark crimson of the sky and the beginning of the sun peeking behind her, Anna finds the image breathtaking.

Anna pads towards the horse and mounts it with Elsa's help, taking her place behind Elsa. Seemingly without any prompting, they begin moving, the horse's trot slow and casual. Somewhere in the distance a rooster crows.

"Anna?"

"Yeah?" Anna says distractedly, still trying to figure out what to do with her hands. She decides that the best thing to do is to let them fall to her sides, limp.

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

What? "Uh, it's still spring? And too early in the morning? Why so suddenly?"

"A pity," Elsa says simply. Nothing else.

Odd. So odd. But Anna doesn't have the willpower to inquire further. The breeze and the pace seem to have filled her eyelids with lead and she leans forward, wrapping her arms tight against Elsa's waist, head resting on Elsa's shoulder, already forgetting about the talk and where to put her hands. The pull of slumber is strong, and she'll think about everything when she wakes up.

* * *

**A/N: In this chapter: where nothing much happens but is still somewhat crucial for character development. Also thanks for the reviews and follows guys, love you all and stuff. Good guesses about Elsa's origin, though. I think only a few of you came close - but I've dropped enough hints in this chapter to give you more ideas.**


	6. tells herself it's trust

**6.**

Pulling the last strands of her hair into a ponytail, Anna tightens the ribbon and examines herself in the mirror. Everything seems to be in place. Riding breeches, check. Cuirass, check. Vambrace, check. Belt, check. Boots… untied. With a sigh, she bends down and ties the laces, tugging once, twice to make sure they're properly done and straightens again.

"Going for a spar, Princess Anna?"

Turning away from the mirror, Anna sees Eva, the maid she's only learned the name of during their failed attempt at tug-o-war and smiles. "Something like that," she says.

A plate of sandwiches in her hand and Anna's sword in the other, Eva gives the bracelet a wary glance. "You aren't going to make me do that again, are you?"

Her speech is informal, and Anna likes it that way. It's no secret within the castle that Anna likes it that way. Formality should only be used in the court and arrangements with those pompous nobles, and she'd like it to remain that way. Because they're all family, her and the castle staff, and family should be treated as such. "Nope. It's enough that I scared you enough to make you run away. Kinda hurts me that you don't want to play tug-o-war with me, though."

"Maybe with a rope next time instead of your hand?" suggests Eva.

Anna likes her already. No blanching and sputtering at her joke about hurting her feelings. That's the way it should be. Besides the fleeing part, that is. "I'll hold your word do that," Anna says. She extends her hand. "My sword, please."

Stepping forward, Eva hands her the sword and Anna straps it onto her belt. She then takes one of the sandwiches from the plate. Ham and cheese. Best thing ever after chocolate. "By the way, do you know where Elsa is?"

Eva frowns. "Elsa?"

Ah. Not the gossiping sort, then.

"Yeah; the new arrival. Around this tall?" Anna indicates the air above her head. "Blonde? Pretty but really scary? Walks around like something's stuck up— very good posture, I mean. Facial expression like a brick wall?"

"…a brick…"

"Yep."

Tilting her head, Eva seems to be pondering, then Anna sees the sudden epiphany and Eva nods and says, "the lady. Yes; I think I know who you're talking about, Princess. I believe she's still in the dining hall with Queen Cecile."

Huh. Aren't they being friendly. Anna wonders if they're plotting behind her back again but squashes the suspicion. She might not trust Elsa, but she trusts her mother implicitly. When Cecile says there won't be any meddling, there won't.

"What about pa—father?"

"From what I've overheard, the Queen mentioned that he's visiting Lord Gervais's estate."

Then he knows. Though to what extent remains to be seen. It makes it all the more important that she does this right. Kind as he is, his wrath is terrifying – and it's inevitable that he'll call on her to justify Elsa's actions, and that's something she wants to delay as long as possible.

Anna takes a bite and chews. Having swallowed, she says, "I want you to tell Elsa to meet me at the courtyard as soon as she's finished eating – and make sure she _has_ eaten instead of just rearranging the food on her plate." Or god forbid, trying to feed birds with her food again. "Ask mother if you're in any doubt. Also, tell her to dress for a ride. Elsa that is, not my mother."

Eva curtsies, and Anna swoops in and saves the plate of sandwiches when it starts to slide sideways. They both cringe at the near-miss.

"Right. Um," Anna says, looking at the plate she's holding. "I'll be at the courtyard, then. Oh and tell the blacksmith I want Joan fixed and back as soon as possible. And please don't curtsy again."

She loved Joan the pot. She really did.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

Ankles crossed and elbows resting on the stone ledge overlooking the training grounds, Anna takes the last bite from her third sandwich and munches distractedly as she observes the men's morning practice. Wooden dummies, sparring matches, rough wrestling on the ground. Their regiment lacks structure, but they're trying hard – especially after the attack on the beach. And among them, Robert with the stump of his missing arm bandaged. He looks a bit pallid but otherwise well, strutting around, giving orders, correcting forms even as he's still sporting winces and a slight limp. A one-armed warrior may be useless on the battlefield, but she's glad that he's reassembling himself and taking his new role in stride instead of wallowing in self-pity. They need men like that.

While correcting a man's defensive stance Robert happens to look up and spots her. Green eyes flashing brilliantly against the sun, he grins and waves with his one good arm. The training grounds being too far down to shout any encouragement, Anna simply smiles widely and waves back. Several of the men take notice and give Anna their own variance of wordless greetings. Good men. Her men.

Robert cups his hand on the side of his mouth and opens it, but his eyes immediately narrows and just like that, he turns his back and barks another order at a man who's just tripped over his own sword. Anna sighs. She doesn't even need to guess what he's seen to instigate that drastic turn of emotions.

"He doesn't like me," Elsa says, coming from behind her. She joins Anna at the ledge and surveys the men below. Most of them are pointedly looking at everything but her and Elsa's vantage point.

"You _did _have your bear rip his arm off. His behaviour is totally justified."

"To be fair, he was in the way."

Anna gives her a look.

"Bad taste?"

"…yeah."

"I must remember to formally apologise to them."

And Anna must remember to give them a talk. "But not now," she says. "They're still raw and it's best if we give them some time, I think." Elsa must prove her worth to the kingdom before she and Anna can go forth with words – because in this instance action speaks louder than words. It's partly to convince Anna as much as it is to convince them.

"Do they know?"

About the incident, Anna presumes. "No; it's kept under tight lid. Lord Gervais's men won't breathe a word, and neither will Jan. Of course mama knows – but I'm not sure if papa does; not the whole story anyway. And it's best we keep it this way."

Because it's a terrible, shameful act. If she can somehow force that particular memory out of her mind, she will. But life isn't that easy, and being royalty means she has to deal with any repercussions that comes with it. It's their blood on her hands; but not only that, Elsa's position is precarious – Robert's reaction speak volumes the distrust the Coronan soldiers still harbour, and right now _nothing_ can be allowed to feed that fire.

"You're hiding it from the King. That is not a wise move."

"With other Kings maybe, but papa will be devastated if he finds out. Violence is never in his blood."

"Neither is it in yours, I see. Yet you fight."

"I do what I have to do," Anna says simply. "It's unfair for my men to risk their lives in the frontline while I sit back and watch in the safety of the castle. I won't be able to sleep if I allow myself that complacency. I'll probably end up hating myself, and that's not a very good feeling to have."

Elsa doesn't reply, and Anna glances at her. She's not exaggerating when she said that Elsa's face is like a brick wall, but there's warmth behind that wall, though she wishes Elsa is more of a normal conversation partner, someone who's willing to speak without being prompted. But she's not, so Anna opens. She slides the plate towards Elsa. "Sandwich?"

Elsa shakes her head and politely declines. "I've eaten, although it was somewhat unnerving having to clean the plate with a Queen and a maid watching my every bite. I haven't had that happen since I was five, I think. I hated vegetables."

Anna blinks. "Wow. That's a lot of words, coming from you." She knows Elsa isn't the type to volunteer information unless prompted, but it seems like she has indeed given much thought about her behaviour – and Anna appreciates the effort.

"Because you were angry—"

"Still am. Kinda."

"—still are angry at my silence. Kinda," Elsa rectifies herself using Anna's vernacular. "And I feel that speaking a little bit more won't do any harm, especially if it makes myself appear more human to you."

"The way you word it make speech seem like an exercise of pulling your own teeth."

"I'm not used to speech. I spent most of time in silence under the Prince."

Ah. So that's how it is. "He… didn't talk to you?"

"He liked his women silent. Just pretty faces to make use of."

And Anna feels the sudden urge to fling the plate down and smash it onto the ground. It takes everything to keep her voice level, but even then, it still shakes. "How long were you with him?"

"Eight years, but before that I spent longer still in the Southern Isles, under a different master."

"I told you to stop using that word." Her voice is definitely shaking now. Anna feels the strain on her brows and tries her best to smooth her expression, distracting herself by tracing the cracks between the individual stone slabs with her fingertips.

"A force of habit, I apologise," Elsa says, inclining her head. "A different contractor, then."

Exhaling, Anna flicks her bangs of her eyes. "That's better. I'm sorry that's happened to you, and I'm glad you're no longer with them. It seems they have a tendency for cruelty." And Elsa's presence explains the Southern Isle's sudden rise of power in the last two decades. She needs to spend more time studying external affairs. Less spars, more books.

"I would have been happier if I have killed him myself."

"Make that the both of us." And truer words have never been spoken. "Something like that won't happen again. You can talk as much as you want with me, Els. I like talking."

It takes a while before Elsa answers, and it might just be her imagination, but she feels like she can see cracks forming on the brick wall. Tiny, miniscule cracks. It might just be the way Elsa goes still, or the way her eyes keep flicking to the bracelet on Anna's wrist. "Not with you, perhaps. But there will be others after you."

Subtext: it's inevitable, and Anna knows it's just the truth.

It's inevitable that Anna will die someday. If she doesn't meet the unnatural demise that seems to be the track record of Elsa's contractors, then it will simply be of old age. When it happens, she wonders if Elsa will still look like this, if one day she'll look down and see her wrinkled hands over Elsa's still perfect skin. "You're saying you'll outlive me."

"Yes."

"Telling a fair maiden she'll die. Has anyone taught you manners at all?" Anna says, chuckling weakly. Partly because she doesn't have Elsa's flair for deadpan humour, and partly because there's doom and gloom behind the idea of her own mortality. She likes to think the idea of dying isn't something to fear, but it's different when it's someone like Elsa talking. It just seems too real. Too imminent.

"My manner is exemplary," Elsa says. "I know seventeen ways to do a curtsy and how to insult someone with a well-executed bow. And I know how to cook."

"Uh… pretty sure you're lying. There's no way there are seventeen variations of a curtsy." Also, there's no way Elsa can actually cook. That's just something Anna can't see her doing. Ever.

"I also know how to lie through my teeth with the utmost conviction."

"Nooot really a good thing to admit," Anna says, and Elsa merely gives a small smile. Anna's read several romance novels where the leading men's smiles are described as roguish and/or mysterious. While she's never seen a roguish smile in real life (finds the adjective hilarious, in fact), but now that she's seeing a mysterious smile at work right in front of her she knows there's nothing charming about it. Just frustrating, frankly. "Anyway, does that mean you can't die?"

"I don't know," Elsa says. "I haven't tried dying, but I assume I can. My wounds do not heal any faster than yours."

Anna frowns. Something about that doesn't make sense. Then she remembers the apathy Elsa has displayed during her trial. "I don't understand. You were so ready to lie down and accept your execution. If you could really die, then—wait. You _were_ ready to die. Goddamnit Els! What is _wrong_ with you?"

Elsa shrugs, nonchalant. "There was a reason for that – as there is for everything – but let us not delve into it further."

"But—"

"In time, Anna. Mortality is a topic much too heavy, and I would rather if we go forward with the day with clear heads." In contract to Anna's, Elsa's voice is perfectly level. But there's something stern in it, and Anna knows she's been shut out again. Not exactly broken glass anymore, but still precarious.

"Okay," Anna says, acquiescing. "You're right. Probably not a good idea to scare myself of dying so early in the day. I'll leave that to feed my nightmares."

"I won't let anyone harm you," Elsa says.

Anna waves her hand dismissively. "I know, I know. But there are things you can't control, and I'd really like it if you won't treat me like a damsel in distress. It's bad enough that my great-great-great... something or other grandma was the epitome of that what's with being trapped in a tower until her thief charming came butting in. I'd rather not make that a family trait." And then there's that one thing, too. The knowledge that Elsa's overprotectiveness only stems from Anna's likeness to the woman she loved. Anna doesn't like the idea of having Elsa loyal to her just because she happens to share the same height or the same build (or really, whatever) as that woman, but she won't pursue the matter. It's Elsa's right to have her own motives. "But thanks anyway. I appreciate your trying not to let me die."

"You're welcome."

Right. On to the next itinerary. She still needs to collect her thoughts on this. Twirling the end of her ponytail, she glances at the last sandwich on the plate. "You sure you don't want the sandwich? I'm gonna eat it, y'know." Wordlessly Elsa slides the plate back, and Anna takes the sandwich. "Okay then. So. What do you know about the tribes?"

"I've learned that tribes isn't the correct term to describe them."

"Yesh buh—"

"Swallow _then _talk, Anna," Elsa says, crossing her arms. She taps her finger on her bicep and Anna thinks she'll make a great figure of authority with that look. Perfect balance between annoyed and patient. She must have practised that a lot.

"Right. Anyway," Anna continues after the sandwich is properly chewed and swallowed, "it's because a coalition of men and women descended from deserters and criminals from various kingdoms who just happened to end up in Corona because we were too nice and none of the other kingdoms would tolerate them sounds way too long."

Elsa doesn't seem to be able to accept it. "Yes; but the word tribes in itself signify kinship and ancestral ties to this place. From what I have read they are anything but."

Anna stares at her. "Wow. _Pedantic, _Elsa. Okay then. A clan. Or clans. Whatever."

"That would signify that they all share common ancestors."

"Or common interests."

"And what might that be? Terrorising villages, stealing livestock, kidnapping women? The killings of simple peasants defending what are rightfully theirs? That's a very broad set of common interests."

She doesn't like the tone Elsa's taking. It's sharpened steel under sheer velvet, and she's afraid Elsa might let loose again.

"You're very well read about them, obviously," she says, remembering the unnatural amount of time Elsa's spent at the library when they weren't talking. "And I'm sure you've talked enough about this with Lord Gervais and perhaps mama too. So you'd know they're only doing what's necessary—"

"Which necessity? The killings or the abductions? Do enlighten me."

Right. She _definitely_ doesn't like that tone: snarky and condescending. She remembers the look in Jan's eyes that night and the bread flattens between her fingers. "You've killed too."

"I don't kill the helpless."

What a big, fat lie. "Oh really. Because I've read something about you slaughtering an entire city under some empress or another. Or was the author lying?"

"Empress. I did not do it willingly," Elsa says. Her expression is carefully blank – blanker than usual, and she's ceased with the tapping. Instead she grips her arm so tightly the tendons in her hand are popping out, and Anna realises she's stepped on glass.

It's a sore nerve she's touched; a blow under the belt. But she's not going to apologise, because Elsa doesn't have the right to sit on her high horse when she's done much the same. She tries a different tactic and will her voice to be softer. Placating. "Do you ever think that maybe those men you killed weren't willing, too?" Because their current self-titled warlord is anything but democratic, and she knows that Elsa's been informed of that.

"No. They had a choice."

"And you had the choice of not killing them."

"I thought we're already past this," Elsa says.

Despite her words, her grip's loosened and she's once again just a brick wall, instead of that… whatever that expression was. As long as you chip hard enough and long enough there's always a way to go through a wall, but that expression Elsa's assumed? Anna feels that she can chip away for an eternity and only to end up with broken tools and scarred hands with nothing to show. It's a scary thought. It makes her realise that she's barely peeled the topmost layer of this multifaceted, complex woman, and even then she's already backpedalled two steps for the one step forward she took last night.

It also makes her realise that they're both trying to jostle each other off one another's horses. Or she does, and Elsa is merely responding with defensive blocks and manoeuvres. Not even a parry.

Anna sighs. "I suppose. I'm sorry for dragging it up again."

"No need to apologise for your convictions. I have my own and you have yours."

"I'm still the one on the right, though."

"If you say so."

Again, that tone. "…and this is exactly why I dragged it up in the first place," she says under her breath.

"I didn't quite catch that."

She extends her lower lip and blows upwards. Her bangs flutter. "Nothing." She glances at Elsa's arms. At least her grip is completely slack now. That's a good thing. Maybe. Broken glass, Anna. Broken glass.

She clears her throat, but before she can say anything Elsa interjects, "you told me you had a plan. Care to elaborate?"

She blinks. "Huh."

"About the coalition of men and women descended from deserters and criminals from various kingdoms who just happened to end up in Corona because you were too nice and none of the other kingdoms would tolerate them?" Wow. Elsa has parroted Anna's definition word-by-word. Either she has a terrifyingly good memory or she's just being needlessly uptight about semantics. Most likely the latter. "Has anyone ever told you you get too easily distracted?"

Come to think of it…

"Actually… yes they did. Papa used to read me bedtime stories, right? But we'd never finish anything because I'd want to know everything about the characters. Have you ever wondered how easily Little Red Riding Hood was deceived by the wolf? I mean the difference between an old woman and a wolf—"

"_Anna_."

"Right. Right. I do have a plan, actually."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"We'll have a talk with them. Me and you and them."

And Elsa looks so shocked, so flabbergasted then Anna feels like laughing at the sheer incredulity of that expression. How utterly out of character for Elsa. Would've laughed, if it's not _her_ plan that Elsa is nearly having a stroke over.

Elsa's mouth opens and closes, and finally she manages an "_excuse me?_"

"A talk," Anna repeats herself. "You. Me. Them."

"What. Anna. _No._"

"Why not?"

"_Why not?_" With a groan, Elsa buries her face in her hand, muttering something inaudible. Then she slides her hand down, pinches the bridge of her nose. "I had a conversation with Cecile this morning exactly about _this. _She told me you would suggest something like this, but I thought no one could possibly be as foolish. You've proven me wrong."

Anna shrugs. The jab at her intelligence doesn't hurt her the slightest. Foolish isn't synonymous with naïve, and she's fine with that. At least it wasn't said with _that_ tone she utterly despises. "Mama knows me well, I suppose."

"The answer is still no, Anna. Let me propose this: let us have discuss this with Alexander first, yes? He can offer advice on the next step. I think that's the most logical thing to do."

Anna whistles. "First names with Lord Gervais too? Impressive. But logical or not, no Lord Gervais will be involved this time. What will he suggest? Kill them all? You forget that the massacre is _still_ his fault as much as yours. You wouldn't have done anything without his explicit permission."

Gervais being a friend to the throne or not, it still hurts that he would conspire behind her back like that. He's like a second father to her, and that betrayal runs deep. No doubt he'll answer something about the greater good again when asked and that's one phrase she no longer wants to hear.

"The King then," Elsa says. There's a hint of desperation in her voice. "We'll request his audience and—"

"And he'll say the same thing as I did. Did mama not tell you that he and I share the same moral values?"

"Yes; frustratingly _so._" There are a lot of stressed words in Elsa's speech today, a far cry from her usual level intonation. "Cecile, then."

"Mama told me I have her implicit trust."

"That's because – _god_._" _If Elsa weren't so well-bred (because a woman like Elsa can't be anything but of noble stock) and so regal, Anna reckons she will have stomped her foot then. "I give up. Do what you wish. Even if I absolutely refuse to move from this spot you would go by yourself anyway and I would end up following due to a lack of choice."

"Unless you want me brain-dead from pain, that is. Look Els. Even if the negotiation goes south, at least we would have _tried_. I think we at least owe them that after what we've done."

"I don't _care_ about the negotiation." Elsa sets her hand on the ledge with more force than needed, and Anna can see thin frost starting to spread underneath her palm. "All I care about is the risk of you being hurt. I would be much happier if you mobilise your soldiers to escort you for this… talk."

"I suppose I could," Anna says. "But what would it accomplish? You're probably stronger than any of them combined, and how would you feel if an army were to march into your turf unannounced? It won't end up pretty."

"But prettier still than if anything were to happen to you. Are you even aware that you're the only heir to Corona? _Nothing_ can happen to you."

The frost spreads still, spreading to the edges of the ledge, threatening to overflow. The men are still training below, a few of them looking up warily at them. Catching Anna's glance, Elsa retracts and folds her hands in front of her. The very picture of a demure lady if not for her sharp, piercing glare.

"Thanks," Anna says. "And yes; I do know, believe me. But I also know that you'll protect me with everything you've got. I trust you."

The muscles on Elsa's neck clenches as she swallows, and a long moment passes in silence. Then she looks away. "You put too much trust on a mere stranger."

"I'd like to think we're friends now. And I also trust you to not lay a hand on them unless I say so."

Anna's not asking for confirmation. She's just putting it out there, her trust. And she hopes Elsa won't disappoint. Maybe Elsa's right and it's foolish to trust someone she's only known for scarcely more than a week, but what use is life without trust? Everyone deserves a second chance.

Elsa's sigh is long and drawn. Finally she says, "when are we leaving?"

"Effective immediately. We've waited long enough and there's no use dawdling. The outcome will be the same either way."

"I knew you would say that."

"Does that mean you've stopped trying to persuade me to rethink my plan?"

"I've given up."

_Finally_. Like pulling teeth, seriously. Relieved, Anna jams the rest of the flattened sandwich into her mouth and starts chewing, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's. Elsa's looking at her in a manner that suggests she doesn't know whether to slap Anna silly or just resign herself to being stuck with Anna as her contractor.

"Take your time," she says drily.

It's good sandwich, flat or not. Of course Anna will. She finishes just as Elsa looks like she's about to lose her patience, and dusts her hands against each other. "Right," she says, "it's a two day ride from here, but thankfully the sun's still high so we should still be able to cover enough distance before sundown. I'll tell the servants to get some supplies—"

"No need," Elsa says. Palm upward, she lifts her hand from midsection to shoulder level. An enormous snowflake pattern appears on the ground along with a flurry of snow, and just like that, Anna sees a dragon rise in tandem with Elsa's movement.

A dragon. A goddamned _dragon_. _A real-life dragon._ Holy. Crap. Anna's not sure if her jaw is ever going to be able to hinge itself back again. Then she notices the sudden stillness and glances down at the training grounds. It seems like she's not the only one who's awestruck at the sight of it. The silence is almost reverent, and she understands the feeling. It's fearsome and beautiful, and really, no words can describe its sheer magnificence. Because it's a dragon. _A goddamned giant dragon_. Holy. Crap.

As if used to theatrics, it lifts its head and rises from its prone position, unfolding its legs one by one. It's staring straight at Anna with its white, reptilian eyes, then opens its mouth slightly, enough to reveal rows of teeth as sharp and long as daggers. She can see the icy breaths that goes with each pulsation of its chest and feels a shiver run down her spine. Primal fear. Awe. Humility.

Its scales shine bright under the sunlight, iridescent, and only then has she realises that Elsa is moving towards it. She watches as it lowers its head at Elsa's approach, allowing itself to be stroked by its master.

"Do you like it?" Elsa asks, still gently stroking its snout.

It takes a while, but Anna's jaw finally re-hinges itself. "Holy crap," she says. Then, "you're such a show off."

"Shock and awe, Anna. You're insistent on going severely disadvantaged. This is how we gain leverage."

"Shock and awe," Anna parrots. "Shock and awe. Gotcha. Shock and awe. Yep."

"Indeed. It's harmless. Do you want to try petting it?"

"Not really, but can I keep it and look at it from afar and name it after food?"

"No."

"Okay," Anna says, slightly disappointed. She squints at the dragon and tries her best not to follow her instinct of backpedalling over the ledge. Elsa's right about it being shocking and awing at least. "So ah, it's not gonna bite my head off or anything, right? I know I'm immune to your powers, but you know. Just in case I'm not immune to teeth."

Or claws. Those are some seriously _long_ claws.

"Do you want to try?" Elsa asks, deadpan. Definitely used to theatrics, her dragon opens its maws to show teeth. A row of very long, very sharp teeth. A forked tongue darts out and in again.

Uh-huh. This is another instance where Anna doesn't know if Elsa's joking or not. But a woman with questionable sense of humour is still much better than a dragon of mass destruction, so Anna decides to get closer to Elsa, angling her body awkwardly to remain facing the dragon as she half crabwalks, half trips over to its master.

Elsa gives her an amused look as Anna sidles up next to her. "You think I'm less terrifying than my beast."

"Well, no offense," Anna says, "but your teeth aren't long enough to compete. I'd rather die from a spike into my chest than… _that_. I think."

"An illogical statement when it's me who is controlling it."

She shrugs. "No one ever says humans are logical creatures."

"Yes; I think I'm seeing the prime example right in front of me."

"Oh _you,_" Anna says, flapping her hand. If it were Jan, Elsa will definitely get an elbow to the ribs, but alas. "Anyway, enough shooting the breeze and all that. We're going to ride this, yeah?"

"Yes." And Elsa touches Anna's elbow, three of her fingers lightly guiding Anna towards the dragon's midsection. It folds it legs back underneath his body and lies down, flat on the ground.

Even prone as it is, Anna can see that it's still the size of a small house, and she wonders if Elsa is expecting her to climb up that or something. Because she's never good with heights. Is absolutely terrified of heights, in fact. Even when her stomach is already doing its own cartwheels now, she's not going to tell Elsa that. It might just be pride, or it might just be that her self-preservation instinct is as faulty as Elsa's is, but she's adamant about putting a brave face on. So hands on her hips, she looks up and so very casually says, "okay. We're gonna climb this. Gotcha. Ladies first."

Elsa shoots her a look. "You're also a lady, Anna."

A snort. "Some people will beg to differ. So yeah. You first." With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Elsa does a small twirl with her hand and creates a saddle on the dragon's back along with a small ladder that goes up to it. The dragon snorts and Anna jumps back. Then rights herself and pretends that never happens. "Right." And it seems like there's no more wiggle room, because Elsa has decided to lean against the dragon, arms crossed, watching Anna's every move with that gaze of hers. Pretty, but really scary. Pride definitely winning over fear, Anna sighs and grabs the rung above her head, starting her climb.

"Before we go." A few rungs up and she stops when she hears Elsa speak. Angling her neck awkward down, she sees Elsa standing to the side of the ladder, a hand grasping it. "I want to make it clear that when anything goes wrong, I reserve the right to do whatever it takes to ensure your safety, do you understand me?"

When, not if. _When _she messes up. _When_ Elsa breaks again. She's not naïve – she knows there are an infinite number of ways this can go wrong, and maybe she puts too much trust on Elsa and too much optimism for the people who by all means she has orchestrated the slaughter of. But still, she's going to try.

She nods. Says, "I understand." Then resumes her ascent, one hand after the other.

A world without kindness and trust might as well be nothing at all; she wants to show Elsa that. Show that despite the perceived naivety she's capable of making her own decisions to benefit Corona. Reaching the top rung, she spares one last glance at Elsa. The woman who hands she's put her life in, despite everything.

But would it hurt for Elsa to reciprocate a little bit of that trust?


End file.
